PS 

5515 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE 



HEROICAL COMEDY 



Founded upint. 

ALEXANDER POPES 

' • RAPE OF THE LOCK ' 



By CLO TILDE GRAVES 



BRENTANOS, Publishers 

Union Square, 'New York, /po* 




Class JPi_ljLL3_. 
CopynghtN^ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 






THE LOVERS' BATTLE 



i 



AUTHOR'S NOTE 
no lines of Pope's Poem have been respect- 
fully incorporated in the Play, and are 
indicated where they occur by bracketts. 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE 



HEROICAL COMEDY 

In Rhyme 



rounded upon 

ALEXANDER POPE'S 

''RAPE OF THE LOCK'' 



By CLO TILDE GRAVES 



BRENTANOS, Publishers 

Union Square, New York, igo2 



Y 



THE LlSRAffY OF 

CONGRESS, 
TvifO Co«e6 REOsrvsD 

SKP. ^ 1902 

CO»^T»»OHT ENTBY 

CLASS A XXa No 
COPY B. 



Copyrighted 1902, by 
Grant Richards 



American Printing House 

818 Bast Twenty-Third Street 

New York 



^4 



'i^ 



To 
MY BROTHER HUGH 



CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY. 



IMMORTALS 



Sylyhs attendant on Belinda. 



AR1EI< ] 

BRILWANTB j 

MOMENTILLA 

CRISPISSA • 

2EPHYRETTO 

TASSEI^LIO 

UMBRIEL \^« '*' ^*«^' \ ^ ^^'^^""^ ^'"""'• 

POMPEY J of \ANezro Page. 



J 



MORTALS 



I,ORD PETER. 



A young Gentleman of Quality, 
President of the Sparks' Oub, and 
Suitor to Belinda. 

COI^ONEI. POYNTZ Of the Sparks^ Club. His Friend: 

ALEXANDER POPE The Poet. In love with Belinda. 

I A young Gentleman of Quality. 
[ In love with himself. 
Beaux about town 



SIR PLUME TOPINOTT. 



^ Beaux aOout town. Members of 
THB MARQUESS OF FOPTOWnI ^^^ ^^^^^^, ^^^^ ^^^ ^^ .,^^ 

SIR CHARLES DAPPERWIT....J „ ,. . 

to Belinda. 

PARVISOL 

DOCTOR JONATHAN SWIFT. . 

SLEEKING 



A Fashionable French Hairdresser 
Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin. 
A Valet. 



vii 



▼«a CHARACTERS OF THE PL A Y. 

LADY TOPINOTT Aunt to Btlinda. 

BETTY A Maed. 

CLARISSA ) 

I Young Ladiis of Qualitir. 
LUCINDA J J li -w 

(A Kick Widovt. In lovt with Sir 

•ACHARISSa \ „ 

y Plumt. 

(An Heiress, and tlu Toaat of tht 
Town. 



.BSAUX.^BLLBS NOTABLES, CBLBBRITIBS, 
SPARKS, POOTMBN. VALBTS, &C. 



ACT I. 

tCBUffSt.— Belinda's Bedchamber at Topinott House, 
Berkeley Square. 

ACT II 

SCENB.— ^ Riverside Bowling-green with Paviliont, 
Hampton Court. 

ACT III 

SCBNB I.— Belinda's Bedchamber: 
SCBNB U.—Lord Petre's Lodgings in St. James's. 

ACT IV 

SCU^H.— The Bail-Room, Queensberry House. 
VUi.cn.— London. PERIOD.— A. D. 1718. 

The Events of the Play are supposed to occur within the 
space of One Day. 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 



ACT I 

The Voices of the Sylphs 
[Heard singing in the distance, to an accompaniment of 
fairy harps]. 
I. 
Sol through closed curtains darts 
A golden ray ! 
Open, ye lovely eyes ! 
Rival the azure skies ! 
Eclipse the day! 
Awake ! imperious Sultaness of hearts ! 

2. 

[The song szvells louder as the Sylphs draw near.] 

Arise, in all thy charms! 

Thy guardian sprites 

We wait to lend our aid — 

The toilet stands displayed — 

Begin the rites ! 

Let awful Beauty put on all its arms ! 
The Curtain rises, disclosing Belinda's bedchamber, an 
elegant apartment lined with rose silk, painted in 
panels zmth groups of Arcadian shepherds and 
shepherdesses. 
The hour is 12 a.m. The blinds of the high ivindows are 
dozvn, and a chastened light prevails. In an alcove 
stands a splendid Arabian bed, veiled by closely 
draivn curtains of crumpled rose silk and lace. Near 
the head of the bed is a small table, bearing a china 
posset-cup and a silver hand-bell. The fireplace is 
of carved zvhite marble, with agate plaques, and the 
high mantelshelf supports some Sevres vases, an 



6 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

ormolu chiming-clock, and a pair of crystal can- 
delabra containing wax tapers which have been 
partly burned away. 
Double doors lead to an ante-room. Another door, gilded 
and silk- panelled, appertains to a powder-closet or 
dressing-cabinet. In the upper part of this door is a 
sash-window by zvhich communication may be had 
with a person within. 
A lace-veiled toilet-table, laden with crystal and gilt plate. 
Upon it a jezvel-case. Near it is a small couch. A 
writing-table stands near the centre of the room, 
rather to the right; close to it is an elbozv-chair. 
A tabouret, a large cabinet in tortoiseshell buhl, somie 
Pekin cases. Near the fireplace is a miniature 
kennel, in basket-work, in which a Maltese poodle 
lies sleeping. A macaw, chained to a glided stand, 
also sleeps, its head beneath its wing. 
The clock upon the mantelshelf chimes twelve. 
The buhl cabinet becomes transparent, irradiated from 
interior by a mysterious golden glow. Its doors open 
and Ariel emerges. He is a wingCd sylph of ex- 
quisite beauty, costumed in blue, pink, and silver, as 
a Beau of the Period, with flaxen periwig, red heels, 
a sword and ruffles. 

Ariel. 

Ye sylphs and sylphids ! Denizens of Air ! 

My summons hear and hitherwards repair ! 

The Sylphs 

[Chanting in distance]. 

We come, great Ariel ! 

[The music of fairy harps, in rippling cadences 
gradually swelling to a crescendo. The magical 
golden glow spreads and intensifies , -filling the 
chamber with dazzling radiance. In the light 
the shapes of the Sylphs, at first transparent 
and diaphanous , gradually assume distinctness. 
They are fragile creatures of delicate and child- 
like loveliness, in height and size resembling 
children of human birth. All are attired in the 
extremest fashion of the day; their hair curled 
and frizzed, and like their gauzy wings, 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 7 

sparkling as though powdered with dust of 
diamonds.] 

Ariel. 
The sun has climbed 
To the high zenith, and the clock has chimed 
The magic hour when yawning lap-dogs shake 
Their jingling bells, and sleepless lovers wake ! 
Zephyretto 
[Moving towards the bed]. 
Shall I perform my office and arouse 
With a breath'd kiss between her arching brows 
Our lovely charge? 

Ariel. 
Hold ! Sylphs, be it confessed 
'Tis my enchantment thus prolongs her rest ! 
'Twas I who cast about Belinda's bed 
The drowsy spell that hovers o'er her head ! 
Behold! 

[At a sign from Ariel, the bed-curtains rise and 
dispose themselves in graceful festoo^ts, reveal- 
ing Belinda, a beautiful, fresh, and innocent- 
looking girl of tzventy-fwo, asleep upon lace- 
trimmed pillows, in a gauze negligee, amidst the 
superb chestnut tresses of her luxuriant hair.] 
Where panoplied in awful charms 
The nymph reposes ! Must I with alarms 
Quicken the breaths that softly come and go. 
And vex that shell-like ear with whispers low 
Of threatened doom? 

[The Sylphs shrink in terror.] 

Brilliante 
[Mournfully]. 

Alas ! 
Zephyretto 
[ Trembling] . 

With fear I quake! 

Momentilla 
[Imploringly]. 
Most puissant master, we conjure you — speak! 



8 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Ariel. 
This day black omens threat the brightest fair 
That ere deserved a watchful spirit's care! 

Brilliante. 
Some dire disaster? 

Zephyretto. 

Wrought by force, or sleight? 
Ariel. 
What 'tis, and where, the Fates have wrap'd in night ! 
Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law, 

[The Sylphs conceal their faces.] 
Or some frail China jar receive a flaw; 
Whether she stain her honor or brocade. 
Forget her prayers, — or miss a masquerade! 
Or lose her heart, — or necklace — at a ball, 
Or whether 'tis decreed that — 

[He indicates the sleeping Maltese.] 
Sylphs 
[Screaming]. 

Shock—? 
Ariel 
[Struggling i<,ith enwtion]. 

—Must fall !— 
Slain by some butcher's cur in rabid rage. 
Crushed 'neath the wheels of some gay equipage, 
Stolen, or lost, to wander far from ease. 
Cushions and cream, — devoured by vulgar fleas ; 
Fed on the thrice-picked bone, or gutter-scrap — 
Unwashed, — uncombed, — a lap-dog sans a lap. . . . 

[The Sylphs sink prostrate, weeping.] 
I know not! Yet [Approaching the bed.] 

ere these fringed eyelids rise. 
And the bright world is brighter for thine eyes. 
Fairest of mortals, hear my warning voice ! 
Belinda danger threatens! 

Belinda 
[Dreaming]. 

La! how choice! 
Ariel 
[Kissing her] . 
Belinda ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. ^ 

Belinda 
[Drowsily]. 
I protest . . . 'tis really ! . . . 
If this be dreaming — and 'tis dreaming, sure, 
Let no one wake me ! 

Ariel. 

Thou distinguished care 
Of us, the bright inhabitants of Air — 
Hear and believe me, who attention claim, 
Thy guardian sprite ! 

Belinda 

{Rapturously']. 

Ah! 

Ariel. 

Ariel is my name ! 
Late as I roamed the crystal wilds of Air, 
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star 
I saw, alas ! some dread event impend 
Ere to the main this morning's sun descend ! 
Be guarded : tempt no stroke of Destiny 
By word incautious or by act too free — 
Let no rash vow upon thy tongue take shape. 
Lest Honor be involved beyond escape: 
This to disclose is all thy guardian can, 
Beware of all — but most ! beware of Man ! 

The Sylphs 
{Together, warningly]. 
Beware of Man ! 

[The fairy harps are again heard. As Belinda 
wakes, the forms of the Sylphs gradually be- 
come indistinct; they mingle with the atmos- 
phere and are no more seen. The mysteriosu 
golden glow fades, the ordinary morning sun- 
shine penetrates through the blinds, street noises 
are heard from without.] 

Belinda 
[Sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes]. 
Of all men, or of a 
Man, do you counsel — ? Mercy! 'tis broad day! 
The darling vision's vanished quite — heigho! . . . 



10 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Of a youth, glittering like a birthnight beau, 

Who to my ear his winning lips inclined, 

And named himself — [She rings the silver hell.] 

I cannot bring to mind . . . 
What was't? 

[Ringing again and knocking on the floor with her 
slipper.] 

But now I had it on my tongue . . . 
Betty! [Calling.] What! Betty! 

[Betty, a pretty, smartly dressed young wOiting- 
woinan, with a country accent, enters with 
chocolate upon a tray.] 
Betty. 



Nay, surely, Madam? 



Belinda. 
Betty. 



Madam ! 
Thrice I've rung! 



Belinda. 

Ay ! thou lazy chit ! 
Nor though you heard me, would you heed one whit 
When footman Sam was ogling in your face ! 

Betty 
[Putting the tray on the table near the couch]. 
I scorns the budget, spite of his gold lace! 
But mun ! a scolding ever be my vate ! 
Though I but stayed to mill your chocolate ! 
Belinda 
[Rising] . 
Reach me my gown ! 

[Betty envelops her in a loose robe.] 
Give me my slippers now! 
Pour out the chocolate . . . stone-cold, I vow ! 

Betty 
[Drawing the curtains so as to conceal the bed 
in the alcove]. 
Nay, mun ! 'tis boiling ! 

Belinda 
[Sitting on the couch]. 

Give some cream to Shock, 
And Poll a lump of sugar. What's o'clock ? 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. ii 

Betty 
[Drawing up the window blinds]. 
Twelve, by Church dial ! 

Belinda 
[Sipping chocolate]. 

Is the weather fair? 
What day is it? The almanac lies there, 
Reach it me, pray! 

[Betty hands her the almanac and goes out, carry- 
ing the poodle.] 

Can a whole month have flown 
Since first I made my curtsey to the Town? 
Am I that same Belinda, once content 
To dwell in dulness down in dismal Kent 
Play cribbage with my grandmother, or brag, 
And drive to church behind a bob-tail'd nag? 
Knowing no keener joys — no wider range — 
Till a rich kinsman, well known upon 'Change, 
Died, leaving me, in lack of other heirs, 
Full twenty thousand in Potosi shares ! 
O ! rainbowed world that then appeared to sight ! 
I spread my gilded wings and took to flight. 
Arrived in town, how pleas'd my lady Aunt 
The long-neglected tie of blood to vaunt. 
Play chaperon, nor leave one thing undone 
To wed the heiress to Sir Plume, her son ! 
Meanwhile Belinda has become the rage ! 
Copied my modes, my fads, my equipage, 
As regnant belle none dares dispute my state, 
The Wits' Club toast me, and the Sparks' Club fete! 
Life, once a psalm, is now a lively jig. 
And I join in as merry as a grig ! 
To the gay tune a frolic toe I shake . . . 
Dance, dine, dress, play; — were I a man I'd rake! 

[A knock at the door.] 
Who knocks? 

The Voice of Pompey 

[Outside]. 
Me, Missis! 

Belinda. 

Enter, Blackamoor! 



12 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

[PoMPEY, a knowing-looking negro child, dressed in 
crimson and gold, zvith a turban and jewelled 
colla/r, enters, carrying a silver salver, on ivhich 
are a dozen billets of different colors and sizes. 
He goes to Belinda and kneels, offering the 
salver.'] 
What, are these all ? Have I grown plain, or poor, 
Tell me, thou sable imp, since yesternight? 

[Picking out a billet with an enclosure.^ 
O Lud ! His hand. ... I know it not by sight. . . . 
How my heart beats, and blushes blushes chase. . . . 

[Tearing the billet open.] 
From my Lord Foptown . . . with a tweezer-case! 

[ Contemptuously.'] 
"Marriage ! a jointure !" Of love, more or less 
You make no mention here, my lord Marquess ! 

[She throws the billet aside and opens another.] 
This from a coxcomb, Sir Charles Dapperwit; 
He ofifers me a hand, with nought in it ! 
That were of little moment, Sir, be it said, 
Were your heart better furnished — or your head! 

[Rapidly tearing open billet after billet.] 
Proposals ! Offers ! Declarations all 
From high and low, from lean, stout, short and tall ! 
From plain and handsome. I could weep for spite, 

[Shuffling the billets angrily together in her lap.] 
Twelve Mister Wrongs, and not one Mister Right ! 

[Heaping billets pettishly back on the salver.] 
So, manikin [to Pompey], this cloying dish remove! 

PoMPEY. 

Iss, Missis! [He sets the salver on a side table], 

BeLIxVDA. 

Pompey, know'st thou, what is Love? 

POMPEY 

[Grinning]. 
Pompey lub toffee, but no money got ! 
Belinda 
[Throwing him a piece of money]. 
Joys saccharine are purchased for a groat, 
Go, buy — be happy ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 13 

POMPEY 

[Biting the coin]. 

Me lub Missis now ! 

Belinda. 

Avaunt ! thou mercenary bantling ! 

[PoMPEY turns a somersault and runs out.^ 

How! 
Is not one nature formed to stand the test 
Of money — universal alkahest? [Rising^] 

Yes, yes, but one ! — it reigns supreme, — alone 
Jove-like, immortal, on a cloud- wrap'd throne ! 
He, — he, — that he whom riches most adorn 
Yet looks on riches with the loftiest scorn ! 
Despises rank, though on his brow was set 
Three centuries back — a Baron's coronet ! 
Petre — by sordid lucre all unwon, 
Who loves Belinda for herself alone! 
Petre ! on whom my soul forever calls, — 
And ne'er shall know the hour when Petre palls ! 
When first we met, it seemed to me he frowned. . . . 
Belinda knew for once Belinda shunned ! 
— Found in ungraciousness a charming grace, — 
And wooed the smiles of an averted face ! 
Forced by the flying quarry to pursue, — 
The tingling rapture of the chase I knew ! 
Then came the hour when, brought to bay at last, 
He spoke — the glowing words poured thick and fast. . . . 
The wealth — the wealth, it was that he abhorred, — 
I found myself not hated — but adored! 
He begged my hand, he sought to learn his fate! 
I enjoined patience, who could scarcely wait ! 
(For it becomes a maid of wit and sense 
To keep an eager wooer in suspense) ! 
To-day — ah! happy day! we both resort 
With other swains and nymphs to Hampton Court, — 
There, in some woodbine-bower, the birds shall see 
Our plighted troth, and thrill in ecstasy! 

[a loud double knock below at the street door. 
Betty runs in.] 



14 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Betty. 
My stars and garters, mum ! A coach and six ! 
Three lackeys up behind wi' gold-topped sticks ! 
A little gentleman as gay as Poll — 
Asking for Madam ! 

Belinda 
[Jumping up]. 

Heavens! Tis Parvisol! 
The great Parisian perruquier . . . 
He condescends to frizzle me to-day! 
Quick, child, throw wide the portals ! 

[Betty throivs the double-doors wide open.] 

Place a plate! 
[Betty sets a china plate upon the writing-table.] 
Lay these ten guineas on the china. . , . Mate 
With them this snuff-box. . . . 

[Giving Betty money and box.] 
Of the choice rappee 
He'll take a pinch, together with his fee ! 
He comes. . . . I fly ! 

[Belinda runs quickly into the powder-closet.] 
The Voice of Sir Plume 
[Outside]. 
But name your price ; — consent ! 

The Voice of Parvisol 
[Outside]. 
Sare, you are von goddam impertinent ! 

[Parvisol, a wisened little Frenchman, preposter- 
ously dressed, with an enormous full-bottomed 
chestnut wig, court stvord, patches, and wearing 
slung over his left shoulder an embroidered 
baldric supporting a silver comb, curling-tongs, 
and a large pair of hairdresser' s shears, etc., 
enters at a run, followed by Sir Plume, who 
is a fop of the most pronounced type, gorgeously 
attired, and wearing a full-bottomed Uaxen wig 
of -flowing curls.] 

Sir Plume. 
"Impertinent !" To me you use that word? 

[Getting in his way.] 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 15 

Parvisol 

[DeHantly]. 
Sare, I would 'ave you know I wear a sword. . . . 
Whenever you shall please, I run you through ! 

Sir Plume. 
Why, strike me plain 1 'Tis what I seek from you ! 
Parvisol 
[Amazed]. 
Vat! Zat I kill you? 

Sir Plume 
[Taking off his wig, and revealing a shaven head]. 
Kill me! No! But curl! 
One twiddle of your irons ! 

Parvisol. 

Non! 

Sir Plume 

[Imploringly extending his wig]. 

One twirl ! 
They say your touch is perfect — 

Parvisol 
[Complacently]. 

Oui? C'est vrai! 
But for all zat, von 'ead I dress zis day 
Vidin dis 'ouse, and dat one 'ead, pardie! 
Is not von donkey's like vat now I see! 

[Goiiig to the powder-closet.] 
Sir Plume 
[Follozifing him]. 
But I insist ! Oddsbods ! I am not wont 
To be refused ! I' fackins ! if you don't 
Oblige, I shall be angry ! faith indeed ! 
Parvisol 
[Threateningly turning on him]. 
Vat say you? 

Sir Plume 
[Sinking gracefully upon his knees]. 

I command no more — I plead ! 
You can't resist! 



i6 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Parvisol 
[Snatching Sir Plume's wig]. 

I mock myself of you ! 
English rosbif ! Take zat ! 

[He claps the wig on hind part before.] 
And . . . sans adieu ! 
[He disappears into the closet, slamming the door.] 
Sir Plume 
[Turning round and round, blinded by curls]. 
Baffled ! Defied, and by a menial worm ! 

[He falls upon the couch.] 
Betty. 

mun ! I was afraid you'd do him harm ! 
You was so fierce, just like a raging lire ! 

Sir Plume 
[Settling his zvig and fanning himself with his 
handkerchief], 
A lion, child! 

Betty. 
With eyes all flaming fire ! 

Sir Plume 
[Complacently]. 

1 might have killed him in my choler. Tush ! 

[Admiring himself in a hand-mirror]. 
This now is scarce an unbecoming flush! 

Betty 
[Sidling up]. 
'Tis like for all the world a damson rose ! 

Sir Plume. 
Damask, child, damask ! Here, beside the nose, 
A patch methinks might add new elegance — ? 

[He turns his full face to Betty.] 
Betty 
[Pretending to be overpowered with admiration]. 
O, mun, mun, mun ! 

Sir Plume 
[In consternation]. 

Alas! my killing glance! 
Poor rustic virgin ! stricken to the heart ! 
Say, art thou better, child ? I trust thou art ! 
Sure as hope saved, I meant it not, no, no! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 17 

[Pulling out a guinea and looking the other way as 
he extends the coin.] 
Take this ! 

Betty 
[Pocketing it]. 
A guinea! 

Sir Plume. 

Medicine thy woe, 
And, lest these eyes thy peace in future vex — 
Avoid them. They are fatal to thy sex ! 

Betty 
[Giggling]. 
I 'on't look at 'e more, I fondly swear! 
Sir Plume 
[Striking an attitude}^ 
Nay ! I would not condemn thee to despair ! 
Sometimes, when musing with averted gaze, 
Your feeding eyes may dwell upon this face! 
Tol-lol, la-la! [Singing.] 

Betty 
[In affected raptures]. 

mun ! I ne'er did hear 

Father's great rooster crow more loud and clear! 
Sir Plume 
[To himself]. 
Dumb, dumb, my voice ! Mercy becomes the strong ! 

1 am too irresistible in song ! 

The Voice of Belinda 
[She lets down the sash-slide in the closet-door and 

peeps out]. 
Betty ! 

Betty. 
A-coming, Madam ! 
[To herself, as Sir Plume admires his figure in 
toilet-table glass.] 

Stare's 'ee wool! 
*Tis but a zany gappin' at a vool ! 

[Betty goes into the powder-closet cts Lady Top- 
INOTT, a handsome, well-preserved woman of 
■fifty, elegantly dressed, enters with Alexander 
Pope. Pope is a thin, short, sickly man of 



i8 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

thirty {see contemporary portraits), with a 
worn, intelligent face. One shoulder is higher 
than the other, and he limps painfully, walking 
with the aid of a crutched stick. He is plainly 
but well dressed in black, zvears a tie-wig and a 
small sword, and has the air of a refined and 
highly educated gentleman.^ 
Lady Topinott. 
I vow I thought my son was in this room ! 

Pope 

[Pointing to Sir Plume, who is absorbed in 

contemplation of himself]. 

Madam, you thought aright. There is Sir Plume ! 

Lady Topinott 

[Fondly]. 

He does not see us ! 

[Sir Plume takes out a set of tablets, a pencil, and 
begins to write, stopping every now and then to 
languish at his reHection in the glass.] 
Pope. 
Madam, no! 
[Sir Plume, in diiUculties for a rhyme, mutters and 
gesticulates. ] 

Lady Topinott. 

He speaks ! 
Pray, Sir, observe and Hsten ! 

Sir Plume 
[Posturing in the toilet-glass]. 

'Mongst the Greeks 
Paris was fairest, yet by Beauty's right 
Plume, to all British swains superior quite 
Art thou ! Not Venus' self from lovelier lad 
Received the apple on the Troan — 

Pope 
[ Grimacing] . Bad ! 

Sir Plume 
[Reciting]. 
"Why should maids of every station 
Vain invoke the Pow'rs above! 
And accuse the dispensation 
Which compels 'em all to love? 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 19 

While yon g-Iass such charms discovers 
As in bright reflection bloom — " 
Pope 
[Capping the rhyme in imitation of Sir Plume's 
manner^ . 
"Will a weeping world of lovers 
Languish for thy smile, Sir Plume!" 
Sir Plume 
[His quizzing glass at his eye, fatuously scanning Pope]. 
Lard ! smoke the quiz ! Who's he ? 

Pope [Drily]. 

You have forgot 
My face since yesterday, Sir, have you not? 
Lady Topinott 
[Shocked]. 
Sure, son, 'tis Mr. Pope, the poet! 

Pope 
[ Iro nically ] . Who 

Is strange to Fame, unrecognized by you ! 
Sir Plume 
[Taking snuff]. 
Egad I I would not have you take it so ! 

[Patronizingly to Pope.] 
I am accessible to poets, know 
The Muse and I, have at odd hours — by way 
Of pastime — 

Pope. 

Pastime ! Ah Sir, what is play 
To you is death to others ! 

Sir Plume 
[Flattered]. 

Say you so . . .? 
A pretty compliment. . . . Why, burn me, no! 
I'm not so sure on't neither ! 

[He stalks away indignantly as Parvisol conies 
quickly out of the powder-closet]. 
Parvisol 
[With a profound how to Lady Topinott]. 

Madame, give 
But ze permission zat I take my leave . . . ! 



20 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Lady Topinott. 
Surely, Sir! 

Sir Plume 

[ Turning] . 

The friseur! 

Lady Topinott 

[Curtseying]. 

Bon jour, Mossoo/ 
[Parvisol sweeps the guineas from the plate, takes 
a pinch of snuff with a superb air, and with 
another magniticent bow to Lady Topinott, 
which she returns with a second curtsey, struts 
towards the door.] 

Sir Plume 
[Interposing]. 
Hold ! Pause ! Reflect ! Consider what you do ! 

[Circling round Parvisol, who imperturbably 
continues to advance.^ 
Refuse to friz my wig? 'Odsbodkins ! — Learn 
That such an opportunity may ne'er return ! 
Ah! for the ladies' sake, relent! 

[Parvisol goes out.] 
The devil !— 
Sir, I protest you're monstrously uncivil ! 

[Runing out after him.] 
Stop ! 

[The hall door is heard to shut and a carriage 
to drive away.] 

Lady Topinott 
[Confidentially to Pope]. 
Your opinion of my son ! ... Be plain ! 
I fear 'tis some distemper of the brain ! 

[ They sit together on the couch] . 

Pope 
[With a twinkle in his eye]. 
Madam, he has none ! 

Lady Topinott 
[Relieved]. 

Thank the Pow'rs above ! 
But, Sir, his freaks — ? His whims — ? 



Love! 

Love! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 21 

Pope. 

Are due to love ! 
Lady Topinott 
[Incredulously^. 

Pope 
[Decidedlyl. 

Lady Topinott 
[Shaking her head]. 
Wrong ! 

Pope. 

[Firmly'\. 

Right ! 

Lady Topinott. 

He's not in love ! 
Pope. 

A Delft 
Jug to a pipkin that he loves — himself ! 
No malady more common, quickly caught, 
Or with more danger to the patient fraught 
Than this self-love ! 

Lady Topinott 
[Flustered']. 

What's to be done? Prescribe? 
Pope 
[Taking snuif]. 
Let him shun flatterers, and all the tribe 
Of parasites that hang upon a fool, 
And seem to serve, yet use him as their tool ! 
Away with gewgaws and with folmajigs! 
Condemn him to plain ruffles and bob-wigs; 
Or better still ! Compel him to despise 
Himself, the charms so precious in his eyes ! 
Let him surprise himself — ahem ! unclad — 

[Lady Topinott, horriiied, rises.] 
And draw from that bare text a sermon sad — 
Admit himself, of all his pride the source, 
A lean-ribbed scarecrow! 



22 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Lady Topinott 
[Scandalised, retreating to the door]. 

La ! how shocking" coarse ! 
Pope 
[Following her]. 
A human radish — forked ! A thing to excite 
Pity, not admiration ! Not delight, — 
But shame! 

Lady Topinott 
[Still retreating]. 
Alack ! 

Pope 
[Still following]. 

If unconvinced he stays — 
Confine him with himself a term of days 
Doomed to extend till he have learned to grow 
Sick of the creature he once worshipped so! 
Or if in vain the discipline enforced 
And from himself he will not be divorced — [Loudly.] 
Buy a rope ! — drive a staple in the wall. 
And rid him of himself for good and all ! 
Lady Topinott 
[Hysterically]. 
Mercy! A smelling-flask ! [She totters out.] 

Pope. 

A fiddlestick ! 
Pest on't ! what waste of honest rhetoric ! 

[Taking a turn up and down.] 
Better for me, I'll wager, if I had 
But saved my thunders for my Iliad ! 

Belinda 
[Re-entering from the powder-closet, followed by Betty]. 
So, Sir, you are obedient to-day! 

[She now wears a charming negligee, and her hair 
is elaborately dressed though not powdered, two 
luxuriant curls being allowed to escape from the 
mass, and hang upon her neck behind.] 
Pope 
[Bowing, as Belinda drops him a curtsey]. 
Who would Belinda's mandate disobey? 
"Attend on me," you said last night, "upon ] 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 23 

The stroke of noon to-morrow," and 'tis done ! 
And I am here to do what else you choose ! 

Belinda. 
But, Sir, I think I bade you bring your Muse ! 

Pope. 
Look in your toilet-glass, and you will see 
I have not failed, she's now in company! 
Belinda 
[Sitting on the couch]. 
Take yonder stool, pray now, and let us chat 
While Betty makes me fair and fine ! 

[Betty goes to the toilet-table, opens the jewel-case 
and takes out diamond rings, bracelets, a neck- 
lace, and other ornaments.] 
Pope. 

For that, — 
Betty may make you fine, but I can swear, 
Heaven and your mother. Madam, made you fair ! 
Belinda 
[Putting on her rings]. 
You strew my path with flowers of speech ! 

Pope. 

You know, 
Madam, 'tis sunshine makes the flowers grow ; 
With gentle breezes, and refreshing dews. 
To which the unkindest soil can scarce refuse 
The tribute of a primrose in the year . . . 
Thus at your smile, your sigh, your blush, your tear, 
The stony clay called Man, must needs relent, 
And blossom forth into a compliment ! 

[He sits on the tabouret.] 
Belinda. 
Poets are the politest men of all ! 

[Surveying herself in the hand-mirror, her back to 
Pope.] 
Like you this head ? 'Twas dressed by Parvisol ! 

Pope 
[Half playfully, half sadly]. 
Malevolent! what pleasure could he find 
In planning the destruction of his kind? 



24 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

What imp of mischief prompted him to deck 

With those twinned ringlets that smooth ivory neck? 

Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, 

And mighty hearts are held in slender chains. 

Fair tresses Man's imperial race ensnare. 

And Beauty draws us with a single hair ! 

Belinda. 
That's vastly pretty and ingenious. Sir! 
Whence did you cull the fancy? 

Pope. 

Madam, where 
Such bright conceits invite the curious hand! 
I brought it back with me from Fairy-land ! 

Belinda. 
You have been there ? 

Pope. 

When poets' eyes are sealed 
In waking dreams, to earthly scenes — revealed 
To the pure inner vision, then appear 
The elemental beings of the air. 

[Soft strains of distant harp music are heard. The 
daylight is darkened, as though a passing cloud 
obscured the sun, and the mysterious golden 
radiance once more suffuses the room.] 
Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight — 
Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light ; 
Some in the fields of purest ether play, 

[The forms of the Sylphs become gradually visible.] 
And bask and whiten in the blaze of day ! 
Some guide the course of wand'ring orbs on high, 
Or roll the planets through the boundless sky ; 
Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main, 

[A peal of distant thunder.] 
Or o'er the glebe distill the kindly rain. 

[A sudden shower patters on the -windows.] 
Others on earth o'er human race preside, 
Watch all their ways and all their actions guide ! 
And who above thyself should be esteem'd 
By such bright guardians ? 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 25 

Belinda 
[Pensively, as the Sylphs cluster lovingly around her]. 

Sure, 'tis odd — I dream'd 

This morn 

Pope. 
Attend ! Unseen around you fly 
The Hght militia of the lower sky ! 
Skilful, obsequious, ever on the wing. 
They haunt your box and hover round the Ring ! 
Some save you powder from too rude a gale. 
Nor let the imprisoned essences exhale ; 

[The Sylphs ^^^3; themselves zvith Belinda'.? toilet.] 
Some arch the brows and curl the waving hairs, 
Assist your blushes and inspire your airs. 
Others repair your smiles, awake each grace, 
And call forth all the wonders of your face ; 
Whilst others fold the sleeve, or plait the gown 
And — Betty's praised for labors not her own! 

[The Sylphs vanish, their task completed.] 
Betty 
[Curtsey]. 
Madam, you're finished ! 

Belinda 
[Looking in the mirror]. 

Sure, another touch — 
Pope 
[Rising]. 
Would mar perfection ! 

[Betty goes out, carrying the maccew.] 
Belinda 
[Rising]. 
I protest I'm much 
Obliged to your politeness. 

Pope. 

Pray you, name 
The service which of my poor pen you claim, 
Madam, before I leave you? 

Belinda 
[Confused]. 

I'd have writ — 
A letter ! 



26 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Pope. 
To—} 

Belinda. 
A g-entleman ! 
[Turning her face away and fanning herself]. 
Pope 
{Moving to the writing-table]. 
To wit? 
A letter civil, or a letter rude? 
A letter gay, or sad, or bad, or good? . 

A soft letter, a letter hard as rock ? 
We can oblige, — we keep all kinds in stock. 
Be it prolix, brief, sweet, bitter — cold or hot, — 
Pray name your choice and have it on the spot ! 

Belinda. 
This letter. Sir, I'd have you understand. 
Returns a passion, and accepts a hand ! 

Pope 
[To himself]. 
Alas ! 

Belinda 
You said — ? 

Pope 
[ With averted face] . 

Name but the favored he? 

[Belinda shakes her head.] 
The initial of the surname ! 

Belinda 

[Turning her head away]. 

Tis— 

Pope 

[Eagerly]. 



Belinda 
[Faintly]. 



'Tis—? 

"P!' 



Pope 
[Timidly]. 
P. stands for poet, Madam, — ^and for Pope ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 27 

Belinda 
[Rapturously]. 
And above all for Petre ! 

Pope 
[To himself]. 

Die, my hope! 
Poor weakling babe, thy life one instant's span ! 
So, my lord Baron is the happy man ! 

[He goes to the writing-tahle.] 
What would you have me say? 
Belinda. 

Say — but in rhyme — 
Polish'd, befit— 

Pope 
[Sarcastically]. 

An object so sublime — 
Heroic, grand — as my lord Tweedledee, 
Shortest among the Greeks of epopee ! 

[He unwillingly selects a pen and paper.] 
Well, Madam? 

Belinda. 
Say — my soul dissolved in bliss 
Swoons at the rapturous thought of being his ! 
Vow by that natural crown of curling hairs — 
Which in defiance of all wigs, he wears — 
That the blest hour when first I met his gaze 
Kindled a torch to last out all my days ! 

[Pope writes lines equivalent to the foregoing words, 
sloivly and with great lack of interest, on a large 
square sheet of gilt-edged paper. ] 
Say — 

Pope 

[Wearily]. 

Why, what more than this could e'er be said? 

Belinda. 

Say that I love him, and consent to wed ! 

'Tis written? } 

Pope. 
Madam, I am almost done! 



28 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Belinda 

{Ringing the bell]. 

Betty! [Betty re-enters.] 

Thy hood — thy mantle — put 'em on! 

[Impatiently to Pope, as Betty hurries out.} 

Now, Sir — ? 

Pope 

[Sanding the letter]. 

There, Madam! 

Belinda 

[Flying to look over his shoulder]. 

Gemini ! how pure ! 
Needs but that I append my signature 
Here at the bottom ! 

Pope. 

Hey? 
Belinda 
[Biting her lip]. 

You understand — 
I write such a great monstrous, sprawling hand 
1 am ashamed on't. Yours shall pass for mine .... 

Pope 
[Vexed, taking snuff]. 
Humph 1 

Belinda. 
Quick, the pen, — the pen ! and let me sign ! 
[Signing with Hourish.] 
There ! Now, the sheet I'll fold, the wax impress 

[Sealing]. 
With a pierced heart, and [to Pope] — Pray Sir, write the 

address. 
And all is o'er! 

Pope. 
And the poor scribe may go ! 
Belinda. 
I vow I blush to tax your kindness so; 

[Dictating the address.] 
"To my Lord Petre at his lodgings, near 
St. James's Palace." [Calling.] Betty! Betty! 

[Betty re-enters, in her hood and mantle.] 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 29 

Betty. 

Here! 

Be house afire ? 

Belinda, 
Hark, thou slug, thou snail, 
Thou creeping tortoise ! Bear this without fail, 
Place in my lord's hands and at once return ! 

[Betty runs out with the letter.] 
O ! how my pulses throb — my temples burn ! — 

[Fanning herself in a Hurry, as the hall-door is 
heard to shut]. 
How beats my heart — the heart he stoop'd to win! 

[A knock at the door.] 
How — 

Pope 
[Drily]. 
Ma'am, there's knocking! 

[Another knock.] 
Belinda 
[Peevishly], 

Plague on 'em ! Come in ! 
[PoMPEY enters ufith a magnificent basket of flowers, 
to the handle of which a letter is tied with a 
knot of love-ribbon.] 

Pom FEY 
[ Grinning diabolically] . 
Iss, Missis! 

Belinda 
[Running to look]. 
These for me? 

Pompey. 

Iss, missis ! 
[He skips out, with another diabolical grimace.] 
Belinda. 

La! 
How purely sweet these blushing roses are ! 

[Seeing the letter.] 
A billet-doux! From him ! Quick, quick, untie ! 

[Untying the knot.] 
'Tis the new modish color, 'stilled sight' 



30 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

[Reading the superscription.'] 
"Mistress Belinda" here, in ink still wet, 
The seal — a Baron's five-pearled coronet. [Joyfully.'] 
Impatient lover ! couldst not thou then wait 
Till noon? 

[Kissing the letter, she breaks the seal, sits on the 
couch, and reads.] 
What's here? 

"Dear Jack. 

A trick of Fate, 
The wanton jade that oft hath kissed and clipped 
Thy friend, now leaves him whipped, and dipped, and 

hipped! 
The few poor thousands hazard left to me 
Are sunk beyond reclaim, in the South Sea! 
And I, perforce, must hang upon my life 
That hampering clog to gallantry — a wife! 
On rich Belinda — " [Starting.] 

Ah! [Continuing to read.] 

"I cast an eye. 
But found the courted maid farouche and shy. 
Fitting the quoted proverb to a pin — 
'Whom all the world zvoos is most hard to ziin !' " 
Alas! [With a stifled sob.] 

" 'T would weary to recount each art 
With zvhich thy friend laid siege to Miss's heart; 
Tactics, manoeuvres, mines, surprises! all 
That make a Marlborough a general 
Beyond compare — / used, and used too well! 
My Hag zvaves o'er the conquer' d citadel! 
To-day at Hampton Court, zvhat envious eyes 
Shall yellozv as I vaunt my golden prise 
Before the Club — {her suitors to a Spark — 
Saving thyself, thou upright man of mark!) 
Till then farewell — I break off this despatch 
To pen a billet to my nezv-caught catch. 
(She loves me, the poor rogue! — zvould give me all! 
Ay! from her head her hair, an I should call 
For such a sacrifice !6 When thou shalt meet her 
Commend me well, good Jack ! 

Thy faithful, Petre!" 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 31 

{To herself, bitterly. '\ 
O ! rash ! to seal ere the address he penned 
And thus betray his own unworthy end ! 
Base wretch ! 

[With tragic intensity, crumpling the letter into a 
ball] 

Pope 
[ Overhearing] . 
Oddso! 

Belinda 

[Rising to her feet, and hurling the letter in 

the fireplace]. 

Villain ! 

Pope. 

Why, what's to do? 
Love's weathercock has turned, the wind is due 
North. 

Belinda 

[With a shriek, Hying to ring the hell]. 

Horror! Betty! [She rushes to the door.] Betty! 

Pope 

[Stopping his ears]. 

'Zooks ! 
Belinda 
[Screaming], 

Come back! 
Gone ! Out of sight and sound ! I'm lost, alack ! 
Ruined, undone ! Betrayed ! 
[Lady Topinott sweeps in, followed by Sir Plume.] 
Lady Topinott, 

Alas, my niece ! 
Why, why these words distraught? 
Belinda 
[Throwing herself upon the couch]. 

Leave me in peace ! 
[She buries her head in the sofa cushions.] 
Sir Plume 
[ To himself] . 
'Tis Cupid troubles here. Why was I bom 
To render maidens wretched and forlorn? 



32 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Belinda 
[Sobbing], 
I shall expire of spleen! 

Pope. 

A death in vogue 
With fashionable folk! 

Belinda 
[Distractedly quoting from the letter]. 
"She loves, poor rogue! 
Would give me all, — ay! from her head her hair." 

[Furiously, spinging to her feet.] 
When from the scalp thy ruffian hand shall tear 
It, then a lock is thine! 

Sir Plume. 

Pray, what's the pother? 
Lady Topinott. 
Who is't has wronged you? 

Belinda 
[Tragically]. 

Petre — and no other! 
O, jewelled idol, raised on feet of clay, 
How art thou shattered ? 

Pope 
[To himself]. 

Wiping tears away! 
More than her vanity is hurt by this. 
Her heart bleeds ! 

Belinda. 

I have done with him and his ! 
Henceforth all manly graces I'll despise, 
Petre hath made them hateful in mine eyes ! 
I'll be a nun ! 

Sir Plume 
[Horrified]. 
Nay, nay ! 

Belinda. 



Pope 
[Slyly]. 



That letter you despatched — 



I will ! 

Despite 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. Z2> 

Belinda 
[Iinperioiislyl^. 

Take pen, and write 
Another, to revoke the fond decree 
That named him master of my heart and me; 
Recall the troth — unpledge the vows — 

Pope 
[Moving briskly to the zvriting-table]. 

In fine 
The honor of alliance you'd decline 
On second thoughts? 

Belinda 
[Nerving herself], 

Plumply and plainly! 
Pope 
[Arranging pens and paper with relish] Ho! 

[He mrites.] 
Belinda. 
There are a thousand ways of saying "No I" 
Pick out the bitterest. Let gall be shed 
Instead of ink, on the devoted head 
Of the smooth traitor, bland, demure, elate ! . . . 
O ! if you love me, lend me all your hate 
To eke out mine ! Meed of your anger grant ; 
Your wit, to point the jeer and edge the taunt; 
Spare not your thunders, I implore of you. 
And be no niggard of your lightnings ! 

Pope 
[Writing in red-hot haste and zvith great enjoyment]. 

Pooh ! 
The theme inspires — my Muse no longer trots 
But gallops. Finished ! 

Belinda 
[Snatching the sand-castor and shaking it over table, 
paper, and Pope]. 

Never heed the blots ! 
The letter of rejection! Read I must! 

[Ousting Pope from his chair and rapidly scanning 
the letter.] 



34 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Ay, this had brought presumption to the dust 

Forever, had I writ and sent it first ! 

But now! . . . O! hapless maid! [Sobbing.'] O! 

day accurst ! 
Can this be me, immers'd in tears and woe, 
That was so happy one short hour ago ? 
Alas ! [Weeping, her head bozved upon the writing-table.] 

Pope 

[Leaning over her]. 

Look up : you have not yet lost all ! 

Belinda 

[Her face hidden, speaking through sobs]. 

What ! when that letter's gone beyond recall ! 

Pope 
[ Whispering] . 
It may yet be recovered ! 

Belinda 

[Looking up]. 

How? 

Pope. 

[After a moment's reflection, the second letter in his 

hand] . 

I have thought . . . 
To-day you meet my lord at Hampton Court . . . 
Engage the enemy with smiling face, 
Manage to see your letter — and its place 
Supply with this, — so different in tone, — 
Achieve the exchange, and call the day your own ! 
Belinda 
[With the tone and manner of high tragedy, rising]. 
It shall be done ! I'll tax my woman's guile 
To summon to these lips a serpent's smile ; 
1*11 coax and coo and play a turtle's part, 
Though a Hyrcanian tigress at the heart — 
The basilisk or cockatrice shall be 
Abashed before my craft and subtlety — 
Ay, if I turn cutpurse or pickpocket, 
Deuce take me! but I'll have that letter yet! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 35 

Sir Plume 

[Perplexed]. 

Nay, prithee ! Why, 'fore Gad, she seems so strange — 

Lady Topinott. 
Fie! niece, you should control your passion's range! 
Belinda 
[Loftily]. 
Behold! my aunt, my cousin and my friend, 
A virgin dedicated to the end 
Of vengeance ! Tremble, falsest of all men — 

[Dipping the pen in the ink-bottle.] 
As in this inky tide I steep my pen, 

[Signing her name to letter No. 2.] 
And register in Acheron the vow — 

[A distant roll of thunder.] 
The Voices of the Sylphs 
[Warningly in the distance]. 
Rash maiden, pause! 

Belinda. 

Furies, assist me now! 
Ye Gorgons grim, and hovering harpies, hear! 
Imps, gnomes and goblins, let your aid be near ! 

POMPEY. 

Iss, Missis ! 

The Sylphs 

[Faintly in the distance]. 

Hold! 

Demon Voices Underground. 

Ha, ha! 

The Sylphs. 

Forbear 1 
The Subterranean Voices 
[Triumphantly]. 

Too late! 
The Sylphs 
[Their voices dying away despairingly in the distance], 
Alas! 

Belinda 

[Brandishing the letter of rejection]. 

With this, I'll meet and conquer Fate! 

The Act Drop Falls upon a Picture. 



36 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

It rises once more, discovering Belinda in hysterics 
upon the couch. Pope, burning a quill pen in a 
lighted taper, holds the frizzling feather under the 
sufferer's nose. Lady Topinott applies smelling- 
salts, while Sir Plume solicitously fans her. 

ACT II 

Hampton Court. A holding- green with two pavilions, 
in the classic style. The pavilions are wreathed with 
roses, an ornamental escutcheon hears the name of 
"The Sparks' Club." A flight of stone steps 
■flanked by moss-groivn marble urns in which clipped 
box-trees are groiving, leads to the fiver, zvhere 
barges, skiffs, and sailing-vessels ply to and fro. 
Upon the farther side of the river lie the green woods 
and flowery meadows of East Molesey, bathed in 
the sunshine of a bright day in June. Garden alleys 
lead to a shrubbery, beyond which one catches a 
glimpse of the Palace; a leaden figure of a negro 
supports a sun-dial, and near this is a stone seat. 
The hour is three o'clock noon. 

Grouped in gossiping knots upon the greensward, or 
lounging on rustic seats, the members of the Sparks' 
Club, a bevy of beaux and men of fashion, in curled 
and frizzed periivigs and costly and splendid attire. 
Others arrive in ivherries, rowed by badged and 
blue-coated watermen, ascend the landing-stairs and 
mingle with the throng. Liveried Servants hurry 
to and fro; all is bustle and liveliness. 

Seated at dice in the loiver pavilion, with other players, 
The Marquess of Foptown, a sinister-looking, 
sallow personage. Sir Charles Dapperwit, a slim, 
affected dandy, and Colonel Poyntz, a handsome, 
soldierly man of middle age, who wears the scarlet 
of the Queen's Life Guards, arid when excited, 
speaks with an Irish accent. '\ 
Foptown 
[About to throw]. 

I call a cast! 

Dapperwit. 
What chance ? 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 37 

FOPTOWN 

[Pondering] . 

Hum ! Seven's the main ! 
[He throws.] 
Nicked ! Stap my vitals — no ! 

POYNTZ 

[As Banker]. 

You're crabbed again, 
[Szveeping up the stakes], 
Dapperwit. 
And for the third time ! 

FoPTOWN 

[Annoyed]. 

What the deuce ! 
'Tis Petre's awkward kick ! 

Dapper\vit 
[Affectedly]. 

Yet who can lose 
More gracefully than Petre ! 

FoPTOWN 

[Drily]. 

Practice makes 
Perfect, they say ! 

[Some Gentlemen arrive in chairs. They alight 
and mingle itnth the others.] 

POYNTZ. 

I grant, the Baron shakes 
The bones but seldom to a winning throw ! 
But who at play's unlucky — 

FoPTOWN 

[Bored]. 

Ay ! we know 
How the saw runs ! 'Tis true the sex adore 
The rake ! 

[Sir Plume is carried on in a sedan chair, by four 
liveried Servants.] 

Dapperwit, 
But he's a thrice-sworn bachelor! 
As well thou know'st, who art his crony, Jack ! 



38 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

POYNTZ. 

Triple, like single oaths, are made to break! 
The Baron woos a lady young and rich! 

{The Chairmen set douni the sedan and raise the 
top. Sir Plume appears, elaborately costumed, 
curled, and powdered.^ 
Dapperwit. 
Gadso ! 

FOPTOWN. 

The cunning rogue 1 

Sir Plume 
[To a Servant]. 

Hold, lout! You twitch 
My Mechlin! Pshaw! [Getting out.] 

Dapperwit. 
In all good faith? [To Poyntz.] 

FoPTOWN. 

No jest! 
Sir Plume 
[To another Servant]. 
I am not to be touched when I am dressed ! 
Dapperwit. 
[Buttonholing Poyntz]. 
Her name, Jack ! 

Poyntz 
[Tantalizingly]. 
You have toasted it a score 
Of times ! 

[Sir Plume mincingly greets several gentlemen.'] 

FoPTOWN. 

'Tis not Belinda? 

Dapperwit. 

— The Fermor? 

FoPTOWN 

[At a nod from Poyntz]. 
Thunder and lightning! 

Dapperwit. 

Rapiers run me through! 

FoPTOWN 

[Anxiously]. 
Will he obtain her? 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 39 

Dapperwit. 

'Twere indeed a coup 
Did he succeed ! 

[Sir Plume approaches as Colonel Poyntz draws 
out a letter.] 

He writes thee, Jack ? 
Poyntz. 

You see 
His hand : the missive is inscribed for me ! 
"To Colonel Poyntz, at Knightsbridge." 
Dapperwit. 

On, Jack, on! 
Sir Plume 
[Mincingly greeting Foptown]. 
My Lord ! . . . What, Dapperwit ! 

[To Poyntz^ tapping the letter imth his cane.] 

Fresh battles won 
Upon the field of Love? Hey, Colonel, hey? 

Poyntz. 
Judge for yourself. [Reading.] 

"Writ at the break of day 
Upon the pillow blest by dreams of thee." 

Foptown 
[Pussled]. 
What? 

Dapperwit 
[Staring and taking snuff]. 
Cursed odd ! 

Sir Plume 
[ Tittering] . 
Some mantua-maker ! Hee ! 

Poyntz 
[Continuing to read]. 
"Bright goddess, thou, whom I must hold diznine, 
Despite the dross that glitters on thy shrine." . . . 

Dapperwit. 
Pooh! 

Sir Plume. 
Pshaw ! 



40 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

FOPTOWN. 

His wits were wandering with some jade 
When this was scrawled ! 

POYNTZ 

[Reading'\. 

"Wert thou a beggar-maid , 
LIozv blest ivere I the monarch's part to play, 
And crown thee Queen of a Cophetua! 
Ah, my Belinda!" . . . 

Sir Plume 
\ Staring], 
Hey? Hey? What? 

FoPTOWN 

[Nudging Dapperwit]. 

I smoke 
The blunder! 

Dapperwit. 
Gadso! 'Tis a monstrous joke! 
Sir Plume. 
Yet it were best this amorous swain should know 
Belinda's heart is not hers to bestow ! 

FoPTOWN 

[Contemptuously]. 
She sighs for thee? 

Dapperwit. 

They all do! 

Sir Plume 

[Self-consciously] . 

Hapless maid! 
Thy bosom's secret shall not be betrayed ! 
Go, go ! tush ! [He struts azvay.] 

FoPTOWN. 

Read on, Jack, for I would hear! 

[ Contemptuously. ] 
This shepherd's pipe is pleasing to the ear. 

PoYNTZ 

[Proceeding] . 
"How happy I, did kindly Fate remove 
The heaped-up wealth that blocks the path of Love; 
Bliss unalloyed and perfect should I taste. 
Nor envy Croesus' self, of thee possessed! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 41 

This noon we meet. In pity then, impart 
The halm of Hope to a distracted heart! 
Should chance no heavenly tctc-a-tcte allotv, 
Breathe hut a yes! Some triYing gase bestow 
(A ribbon-knot, a Hozver, or a mitt, 
The warmth and perfume of your hand in it!) 
Or pluck from Stygian depths of chill despair 

Thy drowning Petre zvith a lock of hair!" 

[Folding up the letter. 1 
Here 't ends ! 

Dapper wn 
[Delighted']. 
In error then to thee was sent 
The billet Petre for Belinda meant? 

FOPTOWN. 

How will she relish that he penned for Jack? 
Should it have reached her by the same mistake? 
Gad ! but 'twere comedy to see her read ! 

Dapperwit. 
I smoke a rich imbroglio! 

POYNTZ 

[Regretfully]. 

Ay, indeed ! 
[A general movement amongst the Crowd.] 

FoPTOWN. 

He comes ! 

PoYNTZ. 

Gentlemen Sparks, our President ! 
[A demonstration of zvelcome from the assemblage 
as Lord Petre, a handsome young man, attired 
in the height of the fashion, and displaying the 
diamond badge of the Club Presidency, arrives. 
He zvears his ozun hair, zvhich is luxuriant and 
curling, and his mamier is easy, zuell-bred, and 
assured.] 

The Sparks. 
[Lifting their hats]. 
Welcome ! 

[Lord Petre, smiling, hozvs gracefully right and 
left.] 



42 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Dapperwit 

[To Foptown]. 

I spy no signs of discontent ! 

Petre. 

Good brother Sparks, good day ! 

Foptown 

[Whispering to Dapperwit]. 

Mark him and — mum! 
[CoL. PoYNTz advances to Lord Petre. They 
exchange a hearty greeting]. 

Poyntz 
[As Petre claps him on the shoulder]. 
Not downcast ! Faith ! I looked to see thee glum 
As thou art gay ! 

Petre. 
What ! should I mope and gloom 
On such a day of color and perfume ! 
When larks are singing in the aerial blue, 
I tell thee, gossip Jack, my heart sings too ! 
Canst thou not guess the tune ? She's mine ! 

Poyntz 
[Doubtfully]. 

Old boy, 
If thou art sure of it, I wish thee joy ! 

Petre. 
If I am sure on't ! says old Soberface ! 
Why, hadst thou not my letter, bully? 

[Sir Plume, Dapperwit, and Foptown converse]. 

Poyntz 

[Coughing]. 

Yes! 

I had a letter, truly ; but 

Petre. 

Egad! 
Wert thou a suitor to her. Jack, old lad? 

Poyntz. 
Pho ! — nonsense ! 

Petre 
[Indicating the Sparks]. 

An' it would afford relief 
To count all these companions in thy grief, 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 43 

Prithee, Jack, tarry till I light the fuse 

And blow the whole Club sky-high with my news ! 

Meanwhile bright Phoebus shines upon our fete! 

POYNTZ 

[Looking down the river]. 
And lo ! The bark of Venus ! 

FOPTOWN 

[Putting up a quizzing glass]. 

With its freight 
Of Loves and Graces ! 

Dapperwit. 

As by magic seems 
To glide towards us o'er the silver Thames ! 
Female Voices 
[From the river]. 
Glee. 
Swift and secure our painted vessel glides, 
The sunbeams trembling on the floating tides; 
While melting music steals upon the sky 
And softened sounds upon the waters die. 
Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play. 
When Beauty smiles, the world must needs be gay! 

The Sparks crozvd to the landing-stairs as a gilded 
and decorated state barge, tastefully wreathed 
zvith garlands of roses, is pulled up stream. 
The rozvers are watermen in the Club livery. 
In the prow a band of violins playing. In the 
stern, under a purple silk awning, Belinda re- 
clines upon cushions, Lucinda, Sacharissa, 
and Clarissa being grouped round her with 
other Ladies. Pompey squats at Belinda's 
feet. The barge is rowed to the landing-stairs. 
Belinda rises, smiling, alights, and ascends the 
stairs, her train carried by Pompey. She ac- 
cepts, not without some signs of secret reluct- 
ance. Lord Petre's hand. Sacharissa follows, 
led by Sir Plume. Clarissa, a superb brunette, 
and Lucinda, a charming blonde, are respec- 
tively received by Colonel Poyntz and Lord 
FoPTOWN. Each lady, as she gains the summit 
of the steps, is received in the same manner by 



44 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

a gentleman, until all are arrayed in double line 
ready to commence the minuet. At this point 
the Violinists leave the barge and group in 
the upper pavilion. The barge is roived oif. 
A flourish of violins. A preliminary bozv and 
curtsey of partners.] 

A Minuet de la Cour. 
[At the close of the dance the various couples stroll 
away into the garden-alleys and shrubbery, the 
Musicians and Servants zvithdraiv, and Lord 
Petre and Belinda are left alone together. 
Lord Petre, as in the last figure of the minuet, 
kneeling at Belinda's feet. He attempts to 
kiss her hand; she withdraws it sharply.] 
Petre 
[Reproachfully] . 
Ah ! cruel charmer ! Must I then release 
This hand, so newly plig-hted? 
Belinda 
[Coldly]. 

If you please ! 
Folks may observe us ! 

Petre 
[Grandiloquently] . 

Let all Nature see 
And chant in chorus, "Hymen ! Hymenee !" 
Let all the Planets, with the Moon and Sun, 
Earth, Air, Fire, Water — witness thou art won ! 
Whilst shades of classic lovers hover near 
To attest those priceless vows I carry — here ! 

[Sti'iking his breast.] 
Belinda 
[Her hand to her heart]. 
O, me! 

Petre 
[Supporting her]. 
Alas ! what ails ? Thou scarce canst stand ! 
Belinda 
[Feigning faintness]. 
A little water ! Bring it in your hand ! 
There's plenty in the river ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 45 

[Viciously, as Lord Petre assists her to the stone 
seat near the sun-dial, and descends the water 
steps. ] 

For a pin, 
I woiild ! . . . How I would love to push him in ! 
But legal Justice waits on deeds of force, 
And they might find my letter on the corse ! 

[Shuddering.] 
That letter sent in error, — fatal — dire ! 
Which paints a passion in such words of fire, 
The mere remembrance humbles me to dust ! 

[Passionately.] 
I must recover it — I must — I must! 

[She drazvs letter No. 2 from her bosom.] 
Here's the rejection. Scornful, absolute, 
Defiant . . . freezing ! Now to substitute 
This folded paper for the other sheet 
And bring yon coxcomb grovelling to my feet! 

[As Lord Petre returns, carrying zvater in his hat]. 

Lud! my lord! [Affectedly, pointing to the hat.] 

'Tis ruined, — dripping — green ! 
Petre 
[Gallantly]. 
Raleigh once spoiled a cloak to serve a Queen. 

1 to my sovereign dedicate a hat ! 

[Bows elaborately, flourishes the hat, and spills the 
water. ] 
Gadzooks ! there goes the water ! 
Belinda. 

Heed not that! 
I am recovered ! Sit beside me, pray ! 

Petre. 
With bliss I hear — with rapture I obey! 
Belinda 
[To herself]. 
O ! why in thee was treachery made fair ? 
Gracelessness gracious ? 

Petre 
[Sitting beside her]. 

Madam, do I err 
Or did you speak? 



46 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Belinda 
[Maliciously']. 

I mumbled, did not I? 
You know I am at times "farouche and shy." 

Petre. 
Nay! I protest! 

Belinda 
[Quoting from his letter]. 

Protest not, but oblige, 
Pray, Marshal, with the story of the siege ! 

Petre 
[Bewildered]. 
Siege, Madam? 

Belinda. 
Tell me all. Recount each art 
With which you stormed that citadel, my heart ! 
Tactics, manoeuvres, mines — let's have 'em, speak ! 

Petre 
[Embarrassed]. 
Pshav/ ! 

Belinda 

[Ironically]. 

How a blush becomes a conqueror's cheek ! 

[^.9 Lord Petre manifests profound uneasiness.] 

But what disturbs my lord ? He frowns — would rise ! 

Is he not happy with his "golden prize"? 

[Coquettishly.] 
Fie ! dost thou find it tedious to collogue 
Thus long with one who loves thee, — the "poor rogue" f 

Petre 
[To himself, bewildered]. 
All that she says I seem to have heard before ! 
But where? — My brain grows dizzy! 
Belinda. 



You, let me see that letter! 

Petre 
[Vaguely]. 



I implore 



Letter ? 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 47 

Belinda 
[Archly]. 

Sly! 
'Tis hidden there, you know as well as I ! 

[Tapping Lord Petre's waistcoat inHth her fan.} 
Petre 
[With laborious gallantry]. 
To rob me of my treasure art thou fain? 

[He draws the letter of acceptance from his bosom.l 
Belinda. 
One peep, and you shall have it back again ! 
Truth is, I spell but ill, and I would prove 
Plow many blunders I have made in "love." 

Petre 
[Bowing and handing her the letter]. 
None, I hope, Madam ! 

Belinda. 

O ! a great one. See, 
"U" popped in here, where "u" ought not to be! 
Fie ! now you smile. Ay, turn your head away ! 
You know you did! [Rapidly changing the letters.] 
Accomplished ! Victory ! 

[Springing to her feet.] 
Petre 

Eh? 
What said my fair one? [Rising in surprise.] 

Belinda 
[Extending letter No. 2]. 

Take your letter, Sir ! 

[ Curtseying. ] 
And much good may it do your lordship ! 

[Contemptuously tossing him the letter.] 

There ! 
[She runs off laughing.] 
Petre. 
Her look — how wild ! Her laugh — what frantic glee . . . 
Can she be tainted with insanity? 
Horrible thought ! Shall my descendants wear 
Chains round their waists, and bedstraws in their hair? 

[Sir Plume appears in the distance.] 
Her cousin! Faith! Til sound him! 



48 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Sir Plume 
[Jauntily approaching]. 

What? Alone? 
Of all the fair is there no fairest one? 

Petre. 
Upon your arm, Sir, hangs no charming friend ! 

Sir Plume. 
He for whose favors all the sex contend 
Must needs live lonely ! 

Petre. 

Pray, Sir Plume, afford 
One moment's conversation here ! 

Sir Plume 
[Bozving]. 

My lord ! 
Delighted ! 

Petre 
[Embarrassed]. 
I would ask you in your ear — 
Hem! 

Sir Plume. 
Hey? 

Petre 
[Hesitating'] . 
The question's delicate, I fear ! 
Ticklish and nice ! 

Sir Plume. 
Why, out with it, egad! 

Petre 
[Bluntly]. 
Is not your cousin just a little — mad? 

Sir Plume. 
Mistress Fermor! Belinda? 

Petre. 

Even she! 
Sir Plume. 
Mad, said you? 

Petre. 
I said — mad! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 49 

Sir Plume 
[Smirking]. 

She is ! 
[Lord Petre starts hack with an ejaculaticnt of 
horror.] 

For me! 
Distracted — clean ! 

Petre 
[Coldly]. 
Indeed ! 

Sir Plume. 

I am humane, 
Yet, 'tis my lot to cause continual pain . . , 
I think of turning hermit, faith! 

Petre 
[Ironically]. 

Let me 
Advise. . . . Retire to some menag-erie. 
A cage's iron bars have oft defied 
Caresses levelled at the ape inside! 

[He turns upon his heel and goes away.] 

Sir Plume 

[Singing and Dancing]. 

With pipe and with crook 

I'll resort to some nook. 

Buried deep in a pastoral vale; 

With my lambs and their dams, 

My calves, and my rams — 

Love shall never this shepherd assail ! 

Fal la! 
Love shall never this shepherd assail ! 

[Sacharissa, ivho is a buxom little person of about 
forty, over-dressed and heavily rouged, returns 
from the gardens.] 

Sacharissa 
[Overhearing]. 
If thou a shepherd's calling dost profess, 
Let Sacharissa be thy shepherdess ! 



50 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Sir Plume 
[To himself]. 
Another of my victims. I'll appear 
Unconscious ! 

[He takes snuff, admiring himself in a mirror within 
the snuff-box Hd.] 

Sacharissa 
[Jealously]. 
Faithless one ! what have you there ? 
Some face portrayed within your snuff-box lid? 
Cruel! And whose? Nay, do not keep it hid! 
Sir Plume 
[Handing the box]. 
Judge for yourself the picture here concealed. 
Sacharissa 
[To herself, zvith a start of joy]. 
No portrait, but a mirror lies revealed I 
I see my own face ! 

Sir Plume 
[Peering over her shoulder]. 
Sure, you will admit 
A masterpiece of Nature! [Smirking.] Exquisite! 
Superb ! 

Sacharissa 

[Overjoyed]. 
He loves me! [To Sir Plume, timidly.] 

Sir, if I assent 
You'll deem me vain I 

Sir Plume. 

Pho ! pho ! The face I meant 
Was mine, Madam, not yours ! 

Sacharissa 
[In tears of rage]. 

Derided ! scorned ! 
Sir Plume. 
Madam, this frenzy — 

Sacharissa 
[Explosively]. 
Oh! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 51 

Sir Plume. 

Pay now, be warned, 
You'll discompose me, Madam, much I fear . . . 
Upon my life I feel a fluttering here! . . . 

[Pressing his hand to his side.] 
My heart! [Lackadaisically.] 

Sacharissa 
[Violently]. 
You have none ! 

Sir Plume 
[Writhing]. 

Torture ! 
Sacharissa 
[ Viciously] . 

Serve you right! 
Sir Plume. 
Her Grace of Queensberry receives to-night. 
Think what a desert were each glittering room, 
Void of the features and the form of Plume! 
Sacharissa 
[Conscience-stricken, sinking to her knees]. 
True, true ! O ! pardon me — the look, the tone 
That caus'd thee anguish I 

Sir Plume 
[Raising her]. 

Do not weep and moan ! 
Lend me thy hand ! Together we will pace 
Yon garden walks and thread the devious maze . . . 
Be it thine with soft attentions to renew 
In this pale cheek of mine the rosy hue. 
With sprightly chat recall the banish smile 
And deem me all thine own a little while! 

[They go azvay together, lovingly, as Lord Petre 
returns, arm in arm with Colonel Poyntz and 
Lord Foptown, and accompanied by Dapper- 
wit aw d the other Sparks.] 
Dapperwit. 
[Congratulating Petre]. 
A triumph! 

Not Versailles might charm the eyes 
More charmingly. 



52 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

A Spark. 
Egad ! scarce Paradise ! 
For there the angels flaunt no small black sins 
To emhance the lily whiteness of their skins! 

POYNTZ. 

I deal not in fine phrases, as thou know'st, 
But 'tis a feather in thy cap to boast 
Of, lad! [Clapping Lord Petre on the shoulder. \ 

Petre 
[The centre of a group]. 
Lest I should share Tarpeia's fate. 
Spare me ! I sink o'ervvhelmed beneath the weight 
Of all these compliments. Besides, ere tea 
And Beauty crown the revels of the day, 
Permit that I, your President till now, 
Tender the Club my parting speech and bow! 

[General sensation.] 

POYNTZ. 



Hey? 

Damme ! 

What? 



A Spark. 
Dapperwit. 



A Spark. 

A bite! 

FOPTOWN. 

He speaks in jest! 
[General clamor.] 
Petre 
[Enforcing silence by a gesture]. 
In earnest, with my hand upon my breast! 
Tears in each eye and tremors in my voice, 
I, first elected by the general choice 
Your President, resign the chair of state, 
Lay all my honors down and abdicate ! 

[Taking off the President's badge and handing it to 
CoL. PoYNTZ amidst perfound silence.] 
The deed is done. What's left me now to do 
But ring sad changes on the word ''adieu." 
Adieu to debts! To duns my fond adieux! 
Adieu to knaves, to sharpers, and to Jews. 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 53 

Adieu to rattling days and roaring nights ! 
Adieu the Grecian coffee-house and White's ! 

{Gradually increasing excitement and curiosity 
amongst the listeners.] 
Adieu to yawning breakfasts at midday! 
To morning suppers and to midnight play! 
Adieu to hazard, and the fair expanse 
Of the green tables where the light dice dance ! 
Adieu to faro — best beloved by far — 
No more I'll punt for soixante et le va! 
Adieu to heady Burgundy, also 
Adieu to Port — my tipple's sour Bordeaux ! 

[A general shudder.] 
Adieu to tavern brawls and Mohock raids ! 
Adieu to twisted knockers and cracked heads ! 
To broken lamps, the watchman's gory nose ! 

[The sensation increases.] 
The whoop that breaks the snoring cit's repose ! 
Adieu to duels fought with husbands crowned 
With those branched ornaments which so abound I 
Adieu to racing — coursing — cock-fighting! 
Adieu to every one and every thing — 

Dear to a Spark of spirit, until 

{Tantalisingly, enjoying the general surprise.] 
The Sparks. 

When? 
Petre. 
[Languidly, taking snuff]. 
Until I'm snugly married, gentlemen ! 
All the Sparks 
[Shouting]. 
Married ? 

FOPTOWN. 

To whom? Name! 
All. 

Name ! 
Petre 
[Coolly flicking snuff from his ruffles]. 

Mistress Fermorf 
[Tremendous sensation.] 



54 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

All the Sparks. 
Belinda ! 

A Spark. 
The bright goddess all adore! 
Another. 
And all pursue ! 

Another. 

The cynosure of eyes ! 

Another. 



Goal of all wishes! 



The devil! 



Another. 

The Pactolean prize! 

Another 

[Swearing]. 



Another. 
Stap my vitals! 

Another. 

Blood an' 'ouns! 
Another. 
Brimstone and pitchforks ! 

[A tumult of oaths and execrations.^ 
Petre 
[Looking coolly round]. 

Why these gloomy frowns? 
These thunderous curses that salute my ears ? 
These fiery glances and these envious sneers? 
Damn it ! congratulate me, some of you ! 

FOYNTZ 

[Shaking Lord Petre's hand]. 
Heartily, lad! 

FOPTOWN. 

My lord, if this be true! — 
[With a deprecatory gesture as Lord Petre angrily 
claps his hand to his sword.] 
All here, being suitors to the fair you name, 
Entreat you will substantiate your claim 
Ere we draw bridle, — quit the field apace. 
And leave to you the honors of the chase! 

Petre. 
Belinda takes me — can't ye understand? 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 55 

[Looking round the circle of Sparks.] 
Come ! Will assurance under her own hand 
Convince ye? 

[With repressed triumph, about to draw Belinda's 
letter from his bosom.] 

All the Sparks 
[Unaninwusly]. 
Ay! 

FOPTOWN 

[Whispering to Dapperwit.] 

Some cursed chance has foiled 
The bite we looked for ! 

Dapperwit. 

And the game is spoiled ! 
Petre 
[Drawing out Belinda's second letter and unfold- 
ing it]. 
See — hear — believe, each dubious doubting Tom ! 
Mine the reward of courage — skill — aplomb! 
A heart is tangled in this running line, 
Belinda and her money-bags are mine ! 

[Dead silence of attention oji the part of the Sparks.] 
Ahem! [Reads.] "Hopinott House, in Berkeley Square," 
Dated this day. . . . "My Lord," Odsbods ! what's here? 

[Puzzled.] 
Foptown 
[To Dapperwit]. 
"My Lord!" What think you? 

Dapperwit. 

Why, a trifle stifif ! 
Petre 
"You have been pleased to throzv the handkerchief — " 

[Thunderstruck, staring at the letter.] 
Death and the devil ! 

Dapperwit 
[To Foptown]. 

How he frowns and gnaws 



His lips ! 



Foptown 

[Nudging him']. 

Some sport is hatching! 



56 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Petre. 

Traitress ! 

FOPTOWN 

{Jeeringlyl. 
Pause 
No longer, but continue. Baron, pray! 

[Tipping the zvink to the Sparks]. 
The Sparks. 
The letter! Read! 

Petre 
[Greatly embarrassed]. 

I am not well to-day ! 
I have the gout ! 

Dapperwit. 
Your lordship's toe is wrung 
With torturing twinges — not your lordship's tongue ! 
So, without more ado, proceed ! 

Petre. 

You ask 
A thing impossible ! 

FoPTOWN 

[Suddenly snatching the letter]. 

Be mine the task ! 

Petre 

[Throwing himself furiously upon Lord Foptown]. 

Give back the letter, Sir ! 

Foptown 
[Tossing the letter to Dapperwit]. 
Master the page ! 
Declaim the contents, whilst I stem his rage ! 

[Forcibly restraining Lord Petre]. 

Petre 
[Struggling]. 
'Ounds, blood and furies ! 

[General hubbub]. 

FOPTOW^N. 

Help. 
[The Sparks rush to Lord Foptown's assistance. 
Lord Petre is overpozvered.] 
The Sparks. 

We hold him safe ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 57 

FOPTOWN 

[Trying Lord Petre's lace handkerchief over 
his mouth']. 
Now canst thou do no more than gnash and chafe ! 
Hie on, good Charles, — hie on ! 

Dapperwit 
[Reading amidst breathless attention']. 

''My Lord, you have 
Been pleased to throiv the handkerchief ! . . . Your slave 
(Did you possess one) might in rapture bound. 
To lift the precious token from the ground — " 

[A Spark snatches the letter from Dapperwit.] 
The Spark 
[Reading]. 
"But I am no Circassian, swathed in veils — " 
Another Spark 
[Snatching the letter and reading]. 
"Nor are you, Sir, a Bashazv zvith three tails!" 

[A roar of laughter.] 

POYNTZ 

[Infected by the general spirit], 
Give't here ! [Possessing himself of the letter.] 

[Reading.] "In future, Sir, I ivould advise: 
Woo zvith more art, and less of enterprise! 
Hoist not your pirate-colors quite so plain 
When you give chase upon the perilous main 
To some deep vessel, rich zmth China zvares, 
Or galleon laden zvith Potosi shares!" 

[Another explosion of laughter; Poyntz meets Lord 
Petre's reproachful glance and tosses the letter 
across to a Young Spark upon his left hand.] 
Take it ! 

Dapperwit 
[To the Young Spark]. 
Give tongue, Hal! 

The Young Spark 
[With a country accent]. 

Why, to own th' truth 
I cannot read! [More Laughter,] 



58 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

FOPTOWN 

[Taking the letter from the Young Spark]. 
Resign, unlettered youth, 

To one more learned the precious palimpsest ! 

Now, gentlemen, attention for the rest! [Reading.] 

"A truce to mockery, and jesting, Sir! 

Let me bring all my earnestness to hear 

To express the stern, unchangeable decree 

Signed, sealed, delivered by my heart to me! 

J love you not! [Lord Petre starts violently.'] 

My eye, my ear, my sense, 

My judgment, znndicate my indifference. 

Colossal, icy, vast, remote, profound 

As those conjectured solitudes that bound 

The Poles. Then! Jtear me, you who fondly dreamt 

No female eye could vieiv you zmth contempt! 

Did this revolving planet bear through Space 

No living scions of the human race 

Save thou and I, — cts in thie primal plan 

Earth's only woman and Earth's only man; 

Comprehend, — credit, understand — believe, 

Ne'er in Belinda should you find an Eve! 

Did all created things before you botv, 

I should reject as I reject you nozv!" 

[A dead silence. The Sparks have released Lord 
Petre, he has torn the handkerchief from his 
mouth and throimt it angrily upon the ground, 
at which he is gloomily staring.'] 

FoPTOWN 

[With a long, shrill whistle]. 



Whew ! 

Whew! 



Dapperwit 
[Whistling]. 

POYNTZ 

[Whistling]. 
Whew ! 

All the Sparks 
[Crescendo']. 
Whew! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 59 

Petre 
[To FoPTowN, sternly']. 

My letter, Sir, resign ! 

FOPTOWN 

[Drawing his sword, spitting the letter on the point, and 
handing it zvith cool insolence to Lord Petre]. 
Baron, most willingly ! 

Petre 
[Drawing his ozvn sword, making a dexterous pass, 
transfixing the letter and recovering it]. 
To-night, at nine, 
[Tearing the letter into pieces.] 
My friend will call upon your lordship ! 

[He gently tillips the torn pieces into Lord 
Foptown's face.] 

FoPTOWN 

[Bowing, and flicking the scraps of paper from, 
his lace]. 
Shall be most charmed ! I 

[// is now late noon. The first flush of sunset 
appears in the sky.] 

The Sparks 
[To one another]. 

A challenge ! 

POYNTZ 

[ Warningly] . 

T'st! I spy 
The ladies, now returning! 

FoPTOWN 

[To the Sparks]. 
Shall we go 
And meet them, fellow Sparks? 

The Sparks 
[Boisterously]. 

Yoicks ! Tally-ho ! 

» FoPTOWN 

[Taking Dapperwit's arm and that of another 
Spark]. 
Hark forward then ! Fll tell upon the way 

[To the Sparks, with a triumphant glance at Lord 
Petre.] 



6o THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

A strange, amusing thing I heard to-day! 

[FoPTowN moves azvay, accompanied by all the 
Sparks. Colonel Poyntz and Lord Petre 
are left together. \ 

Poyntz 
[Ruefully looking after Lord Foptown]. 
Ay ! the whole world will hear the story now 
And laugh. Small blame to 'em ! 

Petre 
[Slowly moving to the stone seat]. 

The trick ! How ! — how 
Was it achieved? 

[He plants his foot upon the seat and ponders, his 
elbow on his knee, his chin in his hand.] 

She chang'd the letter ? Fiend ! 
Poyntz. 

Calf ! by thine own act wert thou killed and skinned ! 
The knife that did the deed was twin to this ! 

[ Tossing Lord Petre the letter read at the beginning 
of the Act.] 
Read, mark, and learn — all that has gone amiss, — 
Thou hast thyself to thank for't? 

Petre 
[Unfolding the letter and realising the truth]. 

True, too true! 
All's clear. . . . She had the letter meant for you! 
O ! fool ! Besotted fool, hadst thou but known. . . . 

[Throwing himself upon the seat in despair.] 
'Twas thine own hand betrayed thee ! . . . 

Poyntz. 

Curse and groan ! 
'Twill mend thy blunder — woo Belinda back ! 

Petre 
[With passionate reproach]. 
You knew, you knew, and did not warn me. Jack ! 

Poyntz. 
There I was wrong! 

Petre. 
Unfriendly! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 6i 

POYNTZ. 

'Tis confessed! 
Thou know'st I never could resist a jest! 
Forgive! [Extending his hand.] 

Petre 
[Taking the hand]. 
There ! 

FOYNTZ 

[A twinkle in his eye]. 

And Belinda — ? 

Petre. 

[With a gloomy smile]. 

Rest content . . . 
Not long shall be delayed her punishment ! 

POYNTZ 

[Taking snuif]. 
Sweet rogue ! I'd punish her with kisses ! 

Petre 
[Jealously]. So! 

You would, would you? 

POTNTZ 

[Taking snuff]. 
You're crabb'd . . . your cake is dough ! 
[The sunset flush grozvs deeper. A pale new moon 
rises over the tree-tops.] 
Petre. 
It is, Sir, is it? 

Poyntz 
[Jeeringly]. 

One fell stroke of Fate 
Deprives you of the tender tcte-a-tcte. 
The flower — the mitten that you thought to win 
From bright Belinda ! Were you struggling in 
Those Stygian depths you talk of — much I doubt 
If she would spare one hair to help you out, 
Much less a whole lock from her charming head! 

Petre 
[Maddened by taunts, bursting out]. 
Now by these crimsoned heavens o'er us spread, 
And yon pale phantom of a moon, I swear 
Ere nightfall, I will have that lock of hair ! 



62 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

POYNTZ 

[Lightly^. 
Not you ! 

Petre. 
I pledge my word to it ! 

PoYNTZ 

[Pulling out a hetting-hook'\. 

Even odds 
Against your chance? 

Petre 
[Pulling out a betting-book^. 
Seven fifties ! 

POYNTZ 

[Entering bet]. 



Petre 
[Seeing Belinda approach]. 



Done! 
'Oddsbods ! 



She heaves in sight ! . . . Leave me ! 

PoYNTZ. 

I understand ! 
[He nods knowingly and swaggers away, zvhistling 
" Garry owen."] 

Petre 
[Left alone]. 
Now aid me, aid me, brain and tongue and hand ! 
Some subtle stratagem I must devise 
(Like to her own) — to gain the radiant prize ! 
Caution ! She comes ! — who drives me desperate — 
To rival Scylla's crime — earn Scylla's fate ! 

[He leans upon the sun-dial, lost in thought. Enter 
Servants in liz'ery, carrying silver and porce- 
lain tea and coffee equipages, zvhich they place 
on tables in the pavilions. Chairs, cushions, 
and carpets are arranged on the grass.] 
Glee-Singers 
[Unseen]. 

I. ' 

The social board with cups and spoons is crowned, 
The berries crackle and the mill turns round ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 63 

On shining altars of Japan we raise 
The silver lamp ; the fiery spirits blaze : 
From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide — 
And China's earth receives the smoking tide, 
At once are gratified both sense and taste 
And frequent cups prolong the rich repast ! 
And frequent cups prolong the rich repast ! 

[Re-enter Belinda with Lord Foptown and 
Colonel Poyntz, Sir Plume ivith Sacha- 
RissA, Dapperwit xvitli LuciNDA, and all the 
Sparks and Ladies. They group about the 
tea-tables. The Servants attend upon them.} 
The Glee-Singers. 
2. 
In various talk the light hours glide away — 
Who gave the ball, or held the last soiree; 
One speaks the glory of the British Queen, 
And one describes a charming Indian screen, 
A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes : 
At every word a reputation dies : 
Snufif, or the fan, supply each pause of chat 
With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that ! 
With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that ! 

Petre 
[The centre of a group of Ladies, reclining at 
Clarissa's feet}. 
Lovely Clarissa, dare I question why 
You scan my face with such a roguish eye? 
Clarissa 
[Tittering behind her fan}. 
Faces, like letters, sometimes may deceive ! 

Petre 

[Biting his lip}. 

O ! you have heard the story, I perceive ! 

Lucinda 

[ Tittering} . 

And so have I, my lord ! 

Another Lady. 
And I! 



64 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Sacharissa. 

And I! 
O Lud ! I laughed till I was like to die. 
To think your lordship was so taken in ! 

[All the Ladies giggle.'] 
Petre. 
You know the proverb, "Let those laugh that win !" 
Belinda 
{The centre of a group of Gentlemen]. 
Ha ! ha ! 

{Laughing triumphantly and loudly as she darts a 
defiant glance at Lord Petre.] 
Petre. 
You may laugh, Madam ; you have won ! 
Belinda. 
My sex may thank me for a service done 
In teaching yours, my lord, more guardedness ! . . . 
Who boasts henceforth, with reason more or less, 
Of ladies' letters, will, I make no doubt. 
Learn what is in them ere he reads them out! 
Else for presumption, vanity may atone ! 

[She haughtily turns her back.] 
Petre. 
Compunction dies, my heart is turned to stone ! 

[To Clarissa, playing zvith her chatelaine.] 
Fairest Clarissa, ere the glowing noon 
Fades into twilight and this day of June 
Like some bright gauzy-winged ephemeral fly 
^.obb'd of its sunshine, flutters down to die,— = 
Hear but my prayer! — ■ 

Belinda 
[Jealously ivatching Lord Petre and Clarissa]. 

He ogles her and sighs ! 
The minx ! O, I could scratch out both her eyes ! 

Petre. 
Grant me one favor ! 

Clarissa 
{Coquettishly]. 

If the boon you seek 
Can be conferred without a crimson'd cheek ? 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 65 

Petre. 
Madam, it can, though complaisance were sin ! 
Blushes went out, you know, when paint came in ! 

[Quickly, as Clarissa pouts and frowns.] 
'Tis but a keepsake that I crave ! 
Clarissa 
[Flattered'\. 

Explain ! 
Petre. 
This pair of scissors from your chatelaine ! 

Clarissa. 
What need have men of scissors? — 
Belinda 
[To herself]. 

O ! to hear 
The things that he is whispering in her ear ! 

Petre 
[To Clarissa]. 
Madam, sometimes to cut a Gordian knot 
And free the victim of a tangled plot ! 

Clarissa. 
Take then the scissors, since you wish them. Sir ! 

Petre 
[Rising, and accepting the scissors zvith a 
profound hou^. 
I am not Midas, yet I will aver 
When once again the weapon you behold, 
These blades shall glitter with the purest gold ! 

[Triumphantly, sticking the scissors on his finger 
and thumb.] 
Thus ladies in Romance assist their knight, 
Present the spear and arm him for the fight ! 

[He rises, and goes about amongst the Company, 
mingling and conversing zvith Ladies and 
Sparks, but continuing to draw nearer to 
Belinda.] 

FOPTOWN 

[Pressing his suit on Belinda]. 
Madam, you know my wishes hang upon 
Your lips! 



66 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Belinda 
[Missing Petre]. 
Where is he? , 

FOPTOWN. 

Pray you, answer! 
Belinda 
[To herself]. 

Gone ! 
I choke ! 

Petre 
[Continuing stealthily to approach Belinda, the 
scissors ready in his hand]. 
Nearer and nearer! 

Belinda. 

Pitiless ! 
[She lifts her tea-cup zvith a trembling hand.] 
How he detests me ! 

FoPTOWN 

[/;; her ear]. 

Be my Marchioness ! 
Belinda 
[Stitling a sob in her tea-cup]. 
Alas ! My hopes, my joys have fled away, 
There is no sugar in life's cup of tea ! 

Petre. 
Be strong, my heart ! My hand, be steady. So ! . . . 
When next she stoops her head to sip — 

[He seises one of Belinda's curls and cuts it oif.] 

O! O! 
Belinda 
[Shrieking and starting up]. 
Mercy ! What have you done ! 

Petre. 

All man may dare 
To do. Behold! [Brandishing the lock.] 

Belinda 
[Screaming]. 
My hair ! My Hair ! MY HAIR I 
[Tremendous general sensation. The Ladies rush 
to and surround Belinda ; the Gentlemen 
encircle Lord Petre, with excited gestures.] 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 67 

Petre 
{Rhetorically^. 
Let wreaths of triumph now these temples twine, 
I have achieved, the glorious prize is mine! 
While fish love streams or birds delight in air, 
Or in a coach and six the British fair; 
While nymphs take treats or assignations give. 
So long my honor, name, and praise shall live ! 

[All is clamor and hubbub. Belinda, drozvned in 
tears, and crimson with confusion, is the cen- 
tre of a sympathizing group.'] 

FOPTOWN 

[Draiving his sivord]. 
Outrage so gross for retribution cries 



All the Sparks 
[Draiving their sivords]. 
Restore the lock ! 

Petre 
[Centre of a mob]. 
Never ! 
All the Sparks 
[Menacingly]. 
Apologize ! 
Petre. 
Not while life's vital spark inspires my frame! 

[Drawing his sword.] 
Stand aside ! Let me pass ! 

All the Ladies 
[ScreaiPiing]. 
O ! mercy ! 
All the Gentlemen. 

Shame ! 
[Tremendous hubbub.] 
Petre 
[The centre of a circle of dratvn swords, parrying the 
points that are menacing his breast]. 
I feel no shame, experience no remorse; 
Give up the lock, I will not ! 

[He attempts to break through the hedge of swords, 
and is compelled to retreat.] 



68 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

'Tis your force 
I own superior — not your rapier-play! 

[With a sudden leap gaining the river-hank above 
the landing-stairs.'] 
Ladies, your servant ! Gentlemen, good day ! 

[He dives, sword in hand, from the river-hank and 
disappears zvith a splash.] 

FOPTOWN. 

Escaped ! 

The Sparks. 
Confusion ! 
[Tumult. All crowd towards the river-hank; necks 
are craned to catch sight of the swimmer.] 
Belinda. 

O ! He's drowned ! 

[She swoons.] 
All the other Ladies 
[Screaming] . 

He's dead! 
Dapperwit. 
He dived! 

FoPTOWN. 

He rises ! 
' Sir Plume 

[Standing on a chair]. 

Zounds ! I see his head ! 

[Tremendous excitement.] 
The Voice of Lord Petre 
[Hailing in the distance]. 
Wherry! 

Dapperwit. 
He hails a boat! [An answering hail.] 

The swimmer's shout! 
The rowers hear: they back oars — put about! 

FoPTOWN. 

He grasps the gunwale! See! they drag him in 
Dripping ! 

All 
[Laughing and applauding]. 
Ha! ha! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 69 

The Voice of Lord Petre 
[Receding in the distance^. 

The laugh is mine! I winl 
The Glee-Singers 
[Breaking in upon a Babel of exclamations]. 
Day gently sinks beneath the empurpled sea, .... 
Evening descends on mountain, vale, and lea; 
Rising in beauty, Dian's silver beams 
Are mirrored in clear lakes and rushing streams ; 
The thrush retires; light falls the pearly dew; 
The chafer hums, and the owl cries "Tu-whoo!" 
The chafer hums, and the owl cries "Tu-whoo!" 
The Act Drop Falls. 



ACT III 



Scene I. — Belinda's hedchamher, as in Act L Nine 
o'clock, the evening of the same day. Moonlight 
streaming through the high windozvs, mingling zvith 
the rosy light of a small zvood fire in a steel basket 
on the hearth. The draperies conceal the recess that 
contains the bed. Fresh tapers, not lighted, in the 
Sevres candelabra on the mantelshelf and dressing- 
table. PoMPEY squats motionless on the tapestry- 
coifcred tabouret. 
The clock chimes nine. A tremulous strain of Iiarp-music 
as the forms of the Sylphs, at first diaphanous and 
filmy in the moonlight, gradually become distinct. 
Crispissa 
[Sorrozafully]. 
What dire offence from trifling causes springs ! 

Tassellio. 
What mighty contests rise from trivial things ! 

Brilliante. 
Ah I when to mischief mortals bend their will, 
How soon they find fit instruments of ill ! 

Zephyretto. 
What earthly motive, sister, could compel 
A well-bred lord to assault a gentle belle? ■ 



70 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

[Ariel enters from the buhl cabinet. He is pale 
and profoundly depressed. One of his wings is 
partially missing; he carries the severed portion 
under his arm.] 

Ariel 
[In accents broken by emotion, as the Sylphs eagerly 
surround him]. 
Ask you the reason of that deed abhorred? 
The gentle belle had scorned the ignoble lord ! 
Fired to revenge, desirous to offend — 
He planned the outrage, and attained his end ! 
Reclin'd upon the nosegay in her breast 
I saw him come: his deadly purpose guessed . . . 
I viewed him spread the glittering forfex wide . . . 
To inclose the lock, "It shall not be !" I cried. 

And with despairing courage 

The Sylphs. 

Interposed ? 
Ariel. 
Ay ! but in vain ! The fatal engine closed ! 

[A shriek of anguish from the Sylphs.] 
I owe this mutilation to the shears 
That robbed Belinda of her cherished hairs ! 

[Producing the severed portion of his wing, Ariel 
sinks down overpozvcred with grief. The 
Sylphs surround him in disconsolate attitudes.] 
Brilliante. 
Woe! 

[PoMPEY rolls his eyes and grins with malevolent joy.] 
Tassellio. 



Misery ! 

Despair ! 



Zephyretto. 

Crispissa. 

That lock, so bright ! 

Momentilla. 



Alas ! 



Ariel 
[With a hurst of sorrow]. 
I used to sleep in't every night ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 71 

POMPEY 

{Chuckling]. 
Ho, ho! 

Brilliante. 
What do I hear? What do I see? 

{In alarm as Pompey grimaces hideously.] 
Zephyretto. 
Nought but a fetish carved in ebony ! 
Brilliante 
{With a shriek]. 
It moves ! 

Crispissa. 
Grimaces ! 

Tassellio. 
Lives ! 
{The Sylphs cling together in alarm as Pompey 
rises to his feet upon the stool.] 
Ariel 
{Relieved]. 'Tis but a slave 

A rich admirer to BeHnda gave 
Some three days since! . . . 

{A pair of crimson hat's wings suddenly rise from 
Pompey's shoulders. Two curved scarlet horns 
tipped with fiery sparks spring from the sum- 
mit of his turban.] 

Horror ! What art thou ? 
The Sylphs. 

Who? 
Pompey. 
No sable child of Obeah or Voodoo! 

{To Ariel, leaping down from the stool.] 
Ay ! Bleach and tremble ! Thou dost know me well ! 

Ariel 
{Ealteringly]. 
Thou art that spiteful gnome called Umbriel ! 

Pompey 
{Nozv Umbriel]. 
The enemy of thee and all thy race ! 

{With triumphant malice.] 
'Tis I have marred with freckles many a face 
Whose lily fairness was your chiefest boast. 



72 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

'Tis I who bring to bear a countless host ; 
Of subtle arts and venomed spells to blight 
The mortal charms ye cherish ! 

Ariel. 

Baleful sprite 
I know it well ! 

Umbriel. 
'Tis I who have increased 
By inches, the circumference of the waist, 
Once tight and trim, and round, and neat, and jimp; 
'Tis I who rasp the hands and chap the lip. 

[A moan from the Sylphs.] 
'Tis who rasp the hands and chap the lip. 
Ay! plant upon the nose's veriest tip 
The flaunting pimple, roseate of hue ! 

[Rubbing his hands.'\ 
'Tis I who ambush in the spiced ragout 
The onion that attaints the sweetest sigh 
And robs a Juliet's kiss of poetry! 

[With a shrill chuckle.'] 
Confess 'tis I ! 

Ariel. 
We own thy power to harm. 
Yet has it robbed Belinda of one charm? 

Umbriel. 
Not yet ? 

Artel. 
Thou dost admit thine impotence 
To dim or tarnish that bright excellence? 

Umbriel. 
I did, until a kinsman rich and old 
Dropped at her door his burdening load of gold 
Some three months since ! 

Ariel 
[Scornfully]. 

Does gold mar Beauty ? 
Umbriel. 

Elf! 
What is the food of Avarice, but pelf? 
Pride, Arrogance, Suspicion and Distrust 
Are basilisks that breed in golden dust; 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 73 

Nursed in Belinda's breast, have these not power 

To undermine and canker, hour by hour? [Chuckling.'] 

Ariel 
[Recoiling']. 
Arch-traitor. This thy plot? 

Umbriel. 
[Coolly producing a snuff -box]. 

Ay ! If 't should fail 
By other means I may in the end prevail. 
Jealousy . . . ! 

[Helping himself to snuff ; a Hash of fire at each 
pinch.'] 

Belinda 

[Sobbing behind the bed-curtains]. 
Oh! 

Umbriel. 
And outraged love may wreak 
The desired havoc in that lovely cheek, . . . 

[Capering in delight.] 
Redden the eyelids. Turn those radiant eyes 
Into a pair of bottled gooseberries — ! 

Ariel. 
I can endure no more ! Look ! and confess 
That Beauty may be beauteous in distress ! 

[Ariel, with an imperious gesture, ivaves his hand 
towards the curtains that conceals the alcove. 
They part, revealing Belinda in a loose robe 
of transparent black crepe, lying on the bed, 
where she Jms sobbed herself to sleep. Her face 
is hidden on her bare arm, over tvhich her 
dishevelled hair falls in disorder.] 

Belinda. 

Ah! me! [She moves, revealing her face.] 

Umbriel 

[With a yell of agony]. 

Chagrin ! 'Tis true ! 

[He writhes in torture.] 



74 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Ariel 
{Imperiously^. 

Defeated gnome! 
Back to thy dismal subterranean dome ! 
Avaunt! [Waving Umbriel away.] 

Brilliante. 



Retire ! 



Zephyretto. 

Vanish ! 

Crispissa. 

Begone ! 

Tassellio. 

Momentilla. 



Hence ! 

Fly 



Umbriel 
[To Ariel]. 
To-night decides which wins her. Thou, or I ! 

[A Hash of lightning and a peal of thunder. 
Umbriel vanishes.] 
Ariel 
[To the Sylphs]. 
Footsteps ! Away ! 

[A strain of harp music. Ariel retires into the 
cabinet, the Sylphs disappear. There is a knock 
at the door.] 

Belinda 

[Waking]. 

Heigho ! 

Betty 

[Peeping cautiously round the door]. 

Does Madam wake? 
Belinda 
[Sitting up, drooping and despondent]. ... 

Whatis't? 

Betty 
[Entering with a lighted taper]. 
Why mun ! some gentlefolks to make 
Inquiries, compliments, an' like o' that ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 75 

My Lady — 

[She lights the candles on the writing-table and those 
in the wall-scones. ] 

Belinda 

Ugih! [She leaves the bed.] 

Betty 

[Pulling down the curtains concealing the alcove}. 

Mistress Clarissa ! 

Belinda 
[Viciously to herself]. 

Cat! 
Whom else, child ? 

[Taking a large old-fashioned silver bodkin from the 
writing-table] . 

Betty 

[Lighting candles on mantelpiece]. 

Mr. Pope, Sir Plume (mimicking) , hee-hee! 

Belinda 

[Saz^agely pinning up her hair with the bodkin]. 

Tell 'em I'm dead and buried ! 

Betty 
[Courtseying at the door]. 

Here they be ! 
[Enter Lady Topinott, Lucinda, Sacharissa, 
Clarissa in hoods and mantles, Pope and Sir 
Plume.] 

Lady Topinott 
[Surveying Belinda through a spy-glass]. 
Alack ! [Betty goes out.] 

Sacharissa ^ 

[Surveying Belinda]. 
La! 

Clarissa 
[Surveying Belinda zinth secret triumph]. 

Here's a change 'twixt morn and night .' 
Sir Plume. 
Tut! 

[They surround Belinda, Pope remaining in the 
background.] 



ye THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Belinda, 
Speak your minds, pray! Say I look a fright! 
[Looking deiiantly, hut zvith a trembling lip, from 
one to another.'] 

All the Visitors, except Pope 
[Exchanging glances']. 
Humph ! 

Belinda 
[To LuciNDA, Clarissa, and Sacharissa]. 
You were vastly kind to hunt me out, 
On your way home to dress you for the rout, 
To glean some crumbs of gossip to content 
The curious and the impertinent ! 

[With a heaving bosom and flashing eyes, she sits on 

the couch, tapping her foot angrily on the floor.] 

[Lady Topinott, Lucinda, Clarissa, Sacharissa, 

and Sir Plume again exchange glances and sit.] 

Lady Topinott. 

You wrong Clarissa, niece. She pities you ! 

Clarissa. 
Truly ! 

Belinda. 
Who asked her? 

Lady Topinott. 

Sacharissa too 
Deplores your loss. 

Sacharissa 
[Giggling]. 
Ay! poor dear ill-used thing! 
Lucinda. 
Sure I could cry my eyes out ! 

Belinda. 

There's the sting I 
Pity! I loathe 't! 

Sir Plume. 

Where will presumption stop ? 
A lady's hair from off her head to chop! 
Earthquakes and cataclysms! [Belinda stops her ears.] 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 77 

Lady Topinott. 

Wretched girl ! 
When the rude peer displays that captured curl 
What horrid things, think you, will people say? 

{Raising her head and speaking in a voice broken 
by rising sobs~\. 
Forever cursed be this detested day ! 
Happy ! ah, ten times happy had I been 
If Hampton Court these eyes had never seen ! 
What moved my mind with youthful lords to roam ! 
Oh, had I stayed, and said my prayers at home ! 
[Clarissa and the other Ladies are 
affected to tears.] 
'Twas this, the morning omens seemed to tell ; 
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell ; 
The tottering china shook without a wind. 
Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind ! 
A sylph, too, warned me of the threats of Fate 
In mystic visions, now believed too late! [Frantically.] 
See, the poor slighted remnant of the theft ! 
My hands shall rend what Petre's rapine left . . . ! 
All the Ladies 
[Rushing to her]. 
No, no ! 

[They sink around Belinda in imploring attitudes.] 
Belinda 
[Centre of the group]. 
O ! had he been content to seize 
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these ! 

[To Sir Plume, imploringly.] 
Say, cousin, shall my favorite curl, his prize, 
Exposed through crystal to appraising eyes. 
And heightened by the diamond's circling rays, 
On the rapacious hand of Petre blaze? 
Sir Plume 
[Roused to an outburst of chivalrous enthusiasnij 
springing to his feet]. 
Sooner shall grass in Hyde Park Circus grow 
And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow ! 
Sooner let Earth, Air, Sea, to chaos fall, . . . 
Men, monkeys, parrots, lap-dogs, perish all! 



78 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Belinda. 
Thou wilt avenge me ? 

Sir Plume 

[ With determination'] . 

Ay! 

Lady Topinott 

[Rushing to him]. 

My son ! 

Sir Plume. 

My chair. 
My hat ! My cane ! Pll trounce the dog, I swear ! 
Lady Topinott and Sacharissa 
[Clinging to him]. 
Reflect ! 

Clarissa. 
Beware ! 

Lucinda. 

Consider what you do ! 
Sir Plume 
[Valiantly to Belinda]. 
Say, shall I cane him black or cane him blue? 
Belinda 
[Haughtily turning aivay']. 
Choose your own color, Sir ! 

Pope 
[Ringing the hell]. 

You wear a green 
Vastly becoming — to be skewered in ! 

Sir Plume. 
Skewered, Sir? 

. [Pope] 
[Coolly]. 
Riddled, spitted, pinked, or trussed ! 
Steel has five ways of giving dust to dust ! 
And, take my word for it, ere you shall fall, 
My lord the Baron will have proved 'em all 
Upon your body ! [A Servant appears at the door.'\ 

All the Ladies, except Belinda. 
Horror ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 79 

Sir Plume 
[To the Servant]. 

Call a chair ! 
i [The Servant goes out.'] 

Igo, to beard this ravisher of hair 
Without delay ! [Valoronsly.'] 

The Servant's Voice 
[In the street belozv]. 

Chair, chair ! A link, a link ! 
Sip Plume. 
And tell him — very p-ently — what I think ! 

[Sir Plume goes gingerly out."] 
Lady Topinott 
[Following him off]. 
Brave boy ! 

Clarissa and Lucinda 

[Folloiving]. 

Heroic youth ! 

Sacharissa 

[Follozviug]. 

My dauntless Plume ! 
In that barbed glance I read the opponent's doom. 
O thou whose valor pigmies Scanderbeg's. 
Fortune assist thine arms ! 

Pope. 
And speed thy legs ! 
When caution counsels valor to turn tail ! 

[To Belinda, zvho has snnk dozvn sobbing on the 
couch.] 
Madam, I pray you do not weep and wail ! 
Think of the friends you grieve ! 
Belinda 
[Through her sobs], 

I've none ! 
Pope. 
[Taking a hand-mirror from toilet-table]. 

An't please 
You, think then. Madam, of your enemies ! 
And check in prudence this excess of spleen 
Lest it should spoil your beauty ! 

[He holds the glass to Belinda.] 



8o THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Belinda 
[Taking the glass and sitting up]. 
Were I lean, 
Freckled, ill-favored, sallow as a ghost, 
Unfit to reign as belle, to rule as toast — 

[Snrz'eyijig herself in the glass.] 
If all the wealth of charms reflected here 
The blighting hand of sickness were to sear, . . . 
Were these luxuriant tresses bleached to white, 
These ripe cheeks withered, these eyes robbed of light. . . 
Still, still should I be sought ! still, still be sued, 
By small men, great men, polished men and rude; . . . 
By perfumed courtiers and by greasy cits, 
By spendthrifts, misers, dandies, dullards, wits ! 
Alike enthralled by the enchanting power 
Of the stuffed money-bags that form my dower; . . . 
Willing to wed a mummy, or a block — 
For twenty thousand in Potosi stock ! 

Pope. 
[Suddenly]. 
Madam, a rumor flies about the town 
That — H'm [Looking doubtfully at Belinda.] 

Belinda. 
That, Sir? [With a gleam of interest.] 

Pope. 
[Watching her keenly]. 
Potosi stocks are down ! 
Belinda. 
I care not ! 

Pope. 
[To himself]. 
Good! [To Belinda.] 

But, Madam, should they drop 
Lower, you're — 

Belinda. 
Well? 

Pope. 
You're ruined ! 
Belinda. 

Let 'em flop 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 8i 

Pope. 
What, say you so? [To himself. '\ The lesson has borne 
fruit ! 

Belinda. 
Money of all my grief's the bitter root. 
O ! I could cry to Heaven upon my knee, 

[Sinking upon her knees. '\ 
Give, give me back the days of poverty ! 
I knew no fear, no base suspicion then, 
I trusted women, and believed in men ! 

[Sohhing and weeping, Belinda droops her head 
upon the knee of Pope, who bends over her, 
tenderly placing his hand upon her hair. A 
triumphant burst of harp nuisic, mingled with 
a roll of distant thunder. The doors of the 
buhl cabinet fly open, revealing Ariel.] 
Ariel. 
Triumph ! [A Hash of lightning. Umbriel is revealed.^ 
Umbriel 
[ Writhing] . Defeat ! 

The Sylphs 
^Chanting in distance]. 

The ordeal is o'er ! 
Umbriel 
I sink to darkness, to return no more ! 

[Lightning; thunder. Umbriel vanishes, Ariel 
disappears. The cabinet doors clap to. An as- 
cending scale of harp chords, dying gradually 
away. ] 

Pope. 
[Drying Belinda's eyes.] 
There, there ! 

Belinda 
[Recovering and rising]. 
I thank you : I am better now ! 
Pope. 
Come, let me see thee smile again ! I vow 
There's sunshine breaking through the clouded skies 
To dry the drowning violets in your eyes 
Already. So, I take my crutch [suiting the action to the 
words] and leave, [Kissing Belinda's hand.] 



82 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Bvit, ere I go, this counsel pray receive. . . . 

{With real earnestness underlying mock solemnity.'] 
Go to the Duchess's to-night ! 
Belinda 
^Turning sadly azvay]. 
Nay, nay ! 
Pope 
[Whispering persuasively in her ear]. 
Be brave as thou art beautiful. Be gay, 
Not grievous : daring, not disconsolate. 
And on the unkind in kind retaliate ! 

Belinda. 
What, Sir? 

Pope 

[In a tone of mock tragedy, waving his crutch^. 

Revenge, O foully injured fair! 

Scissors for scissors call and hair for hair ! {Retreating.] 

Belinda 

[Pussled']. 

Scissors — ? 

Pope. 

Should Opportunity espouse thy cause. 

Snip, snip and spare not ! {Limping gaily out.] 

Belinda 

[Pursuing him]. 

Stay, Sir! 
Pope's Voice. 
[In the distance, descending stairs]. 

Farewell ! 
Belinda 
[At door]. 

Pause 
One moment ! . . . Gone ! 

[Coming back as the hall door helotv is heard to 
shut.] 

How strange his words ! His air 
How full of mystery ! 

[Betty enters rather out of breath.] 
Betty. 
Madam ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 83 

Belinda 
[Pondering] . 

''Hair for hair!" . . . 
Betty. 
Here's Mossoo Parvisol be come to pray 
The parcel-silver'd shears he left to-day. 

Belinda. 
"Snip!" [Imitating Pope's gesture.] 

Betty. 
Madam — 

Belinda. 
Shears ! Why, did the Frenchman trip 
Upstairs and fetch 'em for himself, child ! 

[As Betty goes out.'] 
"Snip!" 
What did he — could he mean ? I cannot tell ! 

[Impatiently throwing herself into a chair.'] 
Deuce take me if I ! — 

[Enter Parvisol quickly, shown in by Betty. He 
is resplendent, pompons, and bustling as before.] 
Parvisol 
[Bozving superbly]. 

Bon soir, Mademoiselle ! 
I call for — 

[Betty goes into the closet.] 
Belinda. 
Ah, your shears ! 
Parvisol. 

Upon my way 
To a young gentilman of qualitc, 
Milor Sir Baron Petre, zat Monsieur 

[Smirking.'] 
Who steal so sly ze lock of 'air from you. 
Belinda 
[Rising]. 
You frizz that wretch, whom most of all I hate, 
Abhor, loathe, scorn, despise, and execrate? 

Parvisol. 
Non, but I send, and pray Milor to sit 
Zat I may dress an 'ead so full of wit ! 



84 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

C'est un bel homme, vraiment! un homme d' esprit! 

[Taking snuif.l 
Ze town is talk of noting else, pardi! 
Belinda 
[Pierced with a sudden idea, drawing nearer to 
Parvisol] . 
You knowi my wrong! Avenge me! 
Parvisol 
[Starting back]. 

Sacrebleu! 
Belinda 
[Gliding to the side of Parvisol and hissing the 
words in his ear]. 
Name your own price! 

Parvisol 
[Retreating]. 

Vat vould you 'ave me do? 
Belinda. 
Approach the Baron thus. Disguise your fears, 
Seize your occasion and employ the shears ! 
Snip, snip, and spare not! [Tragically.] 

[Betty re-enters from the closet with a large pair of 
silver-handled shears.] 
Betty. 
[Holding up the shears]. 

Madam, here they are I 
Parvisol 
[Recovering from his surprise]. 
I vill Milor inform of zis, begar! 

[He is strutting consequently towards the door, when 
Belinda intercepts him.] 
Belinda 
[ Wrought to frenzy, draiving the silver bodkin from 
her hair]. 
See'st thou this bodkin? 

Betty. 

[Screaming.] 

Lawks ! 

Parvisol 

[Appalled, retreating]. 

Mort de ma vie! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 85 

Belinda. 
Tremble, vile minion ! 

Parvisol. 

Vill you murder me ? 
Belinda. 
Swear to be silent, else, despite brocade. 
In thy base breast I sheathe this glittering blade! 

[She advances upon Parvisol, who retreats hack- 
wards in terror.^ 

Parvisol. 
Aie! 

[He stumbles at the threshold of the closet, rushes 
in, slams the door, and is heard to holt it on the 
other side.'] 

Betty, 

Madam's mad! [Running to the hell.] 

Belinda. 

No more than he or you. 
Betty. 
But— 

Belinda. 
Ask not what I dare, nor what I do! 
'Tis fated I must enterprise alone, 
And with this weak hand strike the dastard down ! 

[With heaznng hosom and Hashing eyes.\ 
If by one step Honor might be retrieved. 
Revenge accomplished and repute achieved. 
That I should take that step, sure Fate denotes, 
Ay ! though it take me — out of petticoats ! 

[Loudly, through the keyhole of the closet.} 
Dost hear me! Ho! within there! Ho, I say! 
Parvisol 
[Letting down the sash-window in the door of the 
closet and putting his head timidly out]. 
Command vat you shall please ... I vill obey! 
Belinda 
[Imperiously']. 
Bow to my will, which opposition loathes; 
Garment by garment, hand me out your clothes! 
Resign your coat, your waistcoat — your cravat! 
Your cane, your handkerchief, your wig, your hat ! 



86 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Betty 
{Beginning to enter into the joke]. 
O, mun ! 

Parvisol 
[Within closet]. 
Sacrc tonnerre ! Zare ! 

[Throzving out the different articles of his costume 
one after another.] 

Take zem all ! 
Belinda 
[Gathering the articles iip]. 
With these, with these I'll triumph or I'll fall ! 

[To Betty.] 
Say, shall my wily foeman's piercing eyes 
Search out Belinda in this ape's disguise? 

[Tossing the clothes to Betty.] 
Betty. 
Nay, Madam, summat's lacking to your plan! 

Belinda. 
Child? 

Betty. 

All beant here that goes to make a man! 

Belinda. 

H'm! [Calling.] Monsieur Parvisol! 

Parvisol 

[Peeping out of the closet bald-headed.] 

You call-a me? 
Vat more you vant? I give you all, pardi! 

Belinda. 
Bandy no words with me, thou caitiff slave! 
Doff, and at once, the hostages I crave. 
Resign those garments which ere Adam's fall 
Our primal parent did not wear at all ; 
Yet to his sons bequeathed, a heritage 
Changing in shape with each successive age, 
No more the badge of shame and sorrow pale, 
The proud insignia of the Tyrant Male ! 
To each new generation still the same — 
Though Fashion dub them with a newer name. . . . 
Why should a lively blush bepaint my cheek 
When I endeavor but that name to speak? 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 87 

Why should false modesty my tongue restrain? 
Millions of wives have worn the things T mean 
Since shrill Xantippe earned the name of shrew — 
And when I wed, I mean to wear 'em too ! 
So, Sir, dispensing with all further speeches — 
I'll Trouble You To Let Me Have Your Breeches ! 

[Parvisol throzvs the breeches out of the closet 
window, they are caught by Betty. She holds 
them up admiringly to Belinda, who strikes a 
superb attitude of triumph.^ 

Picture. 

Darkness and quick Change of Scene. 

Scene II. — Lord Petre's Lodgings in St. James. An 
oblong apartment handsomely furnished in the style 
of the period. Hangings, draperies, and furniture- 
covers of Indian chintz; the whole scheme of color 
rather dark in tone. Double doors, leading to the 
entrance hall. A central archway zvith chinta cur- 
tains, nozv drawn back, revealing a glimpse of the 
interior of a dining-room. (Dessert on mahogany 
table, candelabra with zva.v lights burning, decanters, 
and glasses.) A fireplace. Pier glass above, gilt 
framed; china branched candlesticks holding zvax 
lights, burning. Against the zvall a marble-topped 
console-table between tzvo high zvindozvs. The zvin- 
dozv-blinds are up, revealing dark street and lights 
in opposite houses. Noise of traific in thorough- 
fare outside. Above the console-table a pier-glass, 
gilt framed, surmounted by the figure of a flying 
Cupid. On console-table a pair of silver candle- 
sticks supporting clusters of zvax lights burning, a 
set of silver-gilt toilet plate, crystal perfume-bottles. 
A dress sword, the hilt jczvelled; gloz'es, a mask, 
some diamond buckles and other articles of adorn- 
ment. A door leading to the sleeping-chamber. A 
table, upon zvhich is something lightly coz'ercd zvith 
a fine lazvn handkerchief, lace-edged. The table is 
flanked by two high-backed arm-chairs. A short- 



88 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

legged, high-hacked, chintz-covered lounge. Whips, 
canes, foils, guns in racks. Family portraits 
(principally ancestresses, by Holbein, Van Dyck, 
and Lely) on the walls. 
Time — lo p.m. of the same day. 

[As the curtain rises a burst of laughter is heard, 
and the sound of chairs being pushed back. 
Lord Petre, Colonel Poyntz, and several 
Gentlemen are discovered standing round the 
table in the dining-room with lifted glasses.'] 
Petre. 
Belinda! [He drinks.'] 

The Guests. 
To Belinda! [Drinking.'] 

[Sleeking, a smart valet, enters, showing in Sir 
Charles Dapperwit and Sir Plume, ivhose 
air of pompous impatience does not conceal his 
timorousness. Both Gentlemen are cloaked 
and wear their hats.] 
Petre. 
Thus I pour 
Libations to the gods of Love and War ! 

[He breaks his glass as Sleeking passes into the 
dindng-room.] 

Sleeking 

[At Lord Petre's elbow]. 

My lord, two gentlemen! [Whispering.] 

Petre 

[To the Company]. 

Some friends of mine; 
Pardon me that I leave you to your wine. 

[He comes out of the dining-room.] 
I have the honor? 

[Dapperwit and Sir Plume remove their hats, 
throzv back their cloaks, and how simultane- 
ously.] 

Curse this dusky room! 
Sleeking, more lights! [Recognizing Dapperwit.] 
Sir Charles? 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 89 

[Sleeking brings a silver-branched candlestick with 
lighted tapers from the dining-room, sets it on 
the table, drazm the portiere before the en- 
trance to the dining-room, and goes out softly.'} 
Dapperwit 
[Bowing]. 
The same ! 
Petre 
[Turning to Sir Plume]. 
Sir Plume? 
Sir Plume. 
None other, Sir! [With burlesque dignity.} 

Dapperwit 
[Courteously to Sir Plume]. 
Oblige me and precede! 
Sir Plume. 
You entered first, Sir! 

Dapperwit. 

Pray ! 
Sir Plume. 

Nay! 
Petre 
[Aside to Dapperwit]. 

Give a lead! 
He balks the hedge ! 

Dapperwit. 

Baron, you doubtless guess 
I come here on behalf of the Marquess 
Of Foptown. 

Petre. 
Charmed ! 'Tis not an hour ago 
1 sent a friend to him : a blade you know ! 
Jack! [Calling.} 

[Colonel Poyntz enters from the dining-room.} 

POYNTZ. 

Here, old bully ! 

Petre. 

Settle time and place, 
I read Sir Plume's impatience in his face. 

[To Sir Plume.] 
Now, Sir! 



90 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Sir Pi.ume 
[Stauiuicring]. 

My lord — my lord — my lord 

Petre. 



'Fore Gad? 



How many lords? 

Sir Plume. 
I say it is too bad ! 
Petre. 
Too bad, Sir; what, Sir? 

Sir Plume. 

Sir, do you deny ? 

Petre. 
No, nor admit, Sir. Well, Sir? 
Sir Plume 
[Floundering]. 

Why, why, why! 
'Zounds ! 'Twas to-day at — you know ! 

Petre 
[Tornientingly]. 

Where, where, where? 
Sir Plume. 
'Tis past a jest. Give back the lady's hair! ' 

Nay, prithee ! 

Petre 
[Courteously']. 
I protest it gfives me pain. — 
Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain. . . . 
Sir Plume 
[To himself]. 
I knew that I should frighten him. My glance 
Owns power to terrify as to entrance! 

[Striking an awe-inspiring attitude.] 
Petke 
[Whipping the handkerchief from the table]. 
Behold this altar to great Cupid built 
Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt ; 

[Taking a zvax taper from the table, which he uses 
in the manner of a showman's zvand.] 
Here lie three garters, half a pair of gloves, 
And all the trophies of my former loves ; 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 91 

Verses and billets-doux complete the pyre 
Which, — hold the candle, Jack! — [lighting the taper at 
the candle] , which now I fire ! 

[Kindling the pile of letters, etc.] 
This deed accomplished, leaves me no retreat; 
Return, Sir Envoy, to Belinda's feet. 
Repeat my words, recount what you have seen, 

And 

Sir Plume. 
Plagxte me, Sir, if I smoke what you mean ! 
Petre. 
My meaning may be read by all who run. 
'Tis not to yield one hair, nor half a one ! 

[Drawing from his breast Belinda's lock neatly tied 
up zvith blue ribbbon.] 
I will defend my prize, be it understood. 
With every weapon wielded since the Flood, 

[Advancing upon Sir Plume, li/ho retreats in 
alarm.] 
The shepherd's sling that grim Goliath slew, 
Or Robin Hood's tough bow of British yew. 
I will encounter you upon the field 
With spear and targe — with knightly lance and shield. 
[The heads of several Gentlemen are thrust be- 
tween the curtains masking the entrance to the 
dining-room.] 
With mace or matchlock, broadsword, bill or pike. 
Gun, pistol, rapier, dagger — which you like ! 
Stake out a ring — Pll meet you in the lists, 
Pumps on my feet and nothing on my fists ! 
Or choose you wilder warfare still — go hang ! [Loudly.] 
Bring out your blowpipe and your boomerang! 

[Sir Plume, tripping over a footstool, sits suddenly 
dozmi upon the carpet.] 

POYNTZ, DaPPERWIT, AND ThE OwNERS OF ThE HeADS 

[Bursting out into a laugh]. 
Ha, ha! 

Petre. 
But by this sacred lock, I vow, 
Ne'er shall it leave the breast that guards it now! 



92 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

[The Heads disappear behind the curtains as 
Sleeking enters, shoimng in the Marquess of 
FoPTOWN and Pope. Both are cloaked and 
hatted. Foptown is in riding dress, hooted, 
and carries a crop.'] 

Sleeking 
{Announcing']. 
Marquess of Foptown ! 

Petre. 
[Surprised]. 
V Zounds ! 

Sleeking 

And Mr. Pope ! 
[E.xit Sleeking.] 
Petre 
[Meeting Pope cordially]. 
Sir, you are very welcome here. I hope 
I see you well? 

Pope. 
Why, so, so! 
Petre 
[StiMy]. 

If I fail 
In courtesy, Marquess' — 

Foptown. 
'Tis not en regie 
That I present myself, your glances say, 
After the quarrel that occurred to-day; 
But 'twas inevitable. Hear me out! 
I picked a quarrel. Sir, to bring about 
A duel. Now — 

Petre. 
Now? 
Foptown 
[Smiling drily]. 

I am not so keen 
To meet you at twelve paces on the green 
Or measure rapiers. 

Petre 
[Slowly]. 
This is somewhat strange! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 93 

FOPTOWN. 

Sir, there is panic on the Stock Exchange. 
Potosi shares are down! 

Sir Plume 
[Starting]. 

Hey? 
Petre 
[Shrugging his shoulders]. 
'Cannot see 
Where you are driving, for the Hfe of me! 

FOPTOWN, 

The Company is bankrupt past all hope, 
I have a witness here in Mr. Pope, 
Who climbed your doorstep as I checked my mare. . . 

Petre 
[Eagerly to Pope]. 
Pray, Sir, explain! 

Pope. 
Who can explain a scare? 
This afternoon in Whitehall, Sir, I met 
Dean Swift; fresh from Lord Oxford's cabinet. 
He whispered to my private ear the thing 
With which the Exchange, the Bank and Cheapside ring 
To-night. 

Sir Plume 
[Bursting out]. 
'Oddsbods! Belinda's ruined! 

FoPTOWN. 

Ay! 

She has small cause to bless the Fates to-day! 
The haughty belle, like many a low-bred boor, 
Rose rich this morning, and will lie down, — poor! 

Petre. 
Alas, dear lady! 

FoPTOWN 

[Coolly]. 
So I would postpone 
The aflFair; lest the world deem her cause my own! 

Petre 
[In wrathful astonishment]. 
What? 



■iiriilMlii 



94 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Sir Plume 
[Pushing forzvard^. 
Why, 'fore Gad ! My lord, if you presume 

To trifle with this lady 

FoPTOwisr. 

Well, Sir Plume? 
Sir Plume 

[Stuttering']. 
'Zounds ! Sir, — I hate all incivility — 
But you're a , 

FOPTOWN. 

What, Sir? 
Sir Plume. 

It don't matter — hee! 

FoPTOWN. 

Nay, Sir, it matters much, and I propose 
(Your ears being long enough) — to pull your nose! 
Sir Plume. 
[Aghast] . 
My nose? 

FOPTOVVN. 

Unless some other ass you've choused 
Out of the feature — your nose ! [Advancing.l 

Sir Plume 
[Mildly]. 

When I'm roused 
I'm very terrible, so have a care ! 
Think if I were to strike you ! . . . 

FoPTOWN. 

Bag of air ! 
Elder-pith puppet ! dandelion-crown . . . 

[Striking Sir Plume.] 
Sir Plume 
[On the carpet]. 
One moment more, and I had knocked him down ! 

FoPTOWN. 

[To Lord Petre]. 
As for Belinda, Sir you understand 
I have withdrawn niv offer for her hand ... 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 95 

She will return my gifts, — a silver lace, 
A negro page, a jewellM tweezer-case. 
And with her debts some doting husband curse — 

Pope 
[Interposing as Lord Petre is about to burst out 
indignantlyl. 
Who loves her person better than her purse? 

FOPTOWN 

[Coolly taking snuff]. 
Beggars should wed with beggars ! 

Pope. 

Were that true, 
A fitting mate had Poverty in you ; 
Whom despite rank and wealth, clear eyes may see 
Pauper'd in Honor and in Chivalry ! 

FoPTOWN 

[Snecringly]. 
Children and cripples, Sir, are privileged. 

Pope. 
Truth is the weapon of the child. The edged 
Retort, the biting jest, the epigram, 
With these the cripple fights, your lordship ! 

FoPTOWN 

[To himself]. 

Damn! 
Could I not let the stinging hornet be ! 
I shall be riddled through with raillery ! 

Pope 
[Pulling out tablets and pencil with a flourish]. 
Draw, my lord. [Loudly]. Draw! Defend yourself! 
[A stir behind the curtains. The heads of the 
Gentlemen reappear, curiosity stamped on 
each face.] 

Pope 
[Jotting rapidly dozvn]. 



My wit was rusting in the scabbard. 

FoPTOWN 

[Turning away]. 
For jesting, Sir, I am not in the mood ! 



Gadso ! 



Pho! 



96 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Pope 
[Affecting not to hear, reading as he writes^. 
"The cautious Foptown " 

POYNTZ. 

Good ! 
Petre. 

Extremely good! 
The Listeners 
[Sotto voce to each other]. 
Capital ! 

Pope. 
No! 
[Dissatisfied with the commencement, he begins again.] 

FoPTOWN 

[Haughtily]. 
Such warfare I disdain, 
So, quit the field I 

Petre 
[Interposing sternly]. 

Marquess, you will remain. 
Foptown 
[Angrily]. 
"Will," Sir? 

Petre. 
"Shall," "Must," an' you the term prefer! 
Foptown. 
Insolent ! 

Pope. 

Finished ! 

Petre, Poyntz, Dapperwit, and The Listeners. 

Read! 

Foptown 

[Sneeringly]. 

Ay, let us hear! 
Pope 
[Reading gravely ] . 
"Foptown the rich Belinda woos apace 
And sends his heart to her in a tweezer-case ! 
Fortune recalls her favors — friends depart : 
Cries Foptown, 'Madam, — give me back my heart! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 97 

It reached your hands in error. Pray you see 
Here my real love's initials — L. S. D.' " 

Everybody, except Pope and Lord.Foptovvn 
[Roaring ivith laughter]. 
Ha, ha! 

Pope 

[Putting lip the tablets]. 

Let who would see the lines in print 

Purchase to-morrow's Tatler and peep in't ! 

My lord, your servant! [Bounng to Foptown.] 

FOPTOWN 

[Stung to frenzy, seising Pope]. 

Dwarf, despite your crutch, 
You shall be beaten I 

Omnes. 

Coward ! 

Petre 

[Interposing] . 

Dare to touch 
This gentleman I 

[He forcibly releases Pope, sending Lord Foptown 
staggering across the room.] 

FoPTOWN. 

Hot, whiffing puppy! must 
You— 

[He whips out his sivord and makes a vicious thrust 
at Lord Petre.] 

POPF 

[Deftly parrying the thrust zvith his cane]. 
Dwarfs can parry. Sir, as well as thrust. 

FoPTOWN 

[Furiously to Lord Petre]. 
Out with your hanger! \ 

Petre. 
Marquess, be content! 
Not long shall be delayed the chastisement 
You richly merit, who have dared to slight 
A lady whom I honor. 

The Listeners 
[Eagerly to one another]. 
'Gad, a fight ! 



98 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

[They crowd in from the dining-room. Poyntz and 
Dapperwit viove the table and take their places 
as seconds, Lord Petre and Lord Foptown 
engage.'] 

Petre 
[After a few passes']. 
You bleed ! 

Foptown 
[Glancing at his sivord hand]. 
A scratch ! 
[The duellists engage again. Lord Petre ivounds 
Lord Foptown.] 

Ha ! Curse you ! 

[Supported by Dapperwit,] 
Give me air! 
Petre. 
Thus all Belinda's enemies shall fare ! 
Dapperwit. 
[To Gentlemen, supporting Lord Foptown]. 
Help me convey him home ! 

Two OF The Gentlemen. 

With pleasure ! 
[Lord Petre zmpes his siuord-blade on cambric 
handkerchief, conversing with Colonel 
Poyntz.] 

Dapperwit 
[To Pope, zvho inquires anxiously]. 

Pho! 
A trifling wound ! 

[Lord Petre returns his stvord to its scabbbard and 
replaces it on the console.] 
Pope. 
Thank Heaven! 

Petre 
[Gaily to Omnes]. 

Do you know, 
Friends, cronies, gossips, boon companions stout, 
'Tis time we made our toilets for the rout! 

Poyntz. 
Au revoir! [He goes out.] 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 99 

Omnes. 

Au revoir! 
[Dapperwit and Gentleman take their departure, 
supporting Lord Foptown, who has revived. 
The hall-door is heard to open and shut.} 
Pope. 
[Who has lingered, advancing to Petre]. 
My lord, I came 
To plead with you ; to expostulate — to blame 
Perhaps, but — 

Petre. 
But, Sir—? 

Pope 
[Extending his hand with a cordial smile'\. 

Let the thing be owned ! 
If you have erred, my lord, you have atoned ! 

Petre. 
Would she think so, or have I sinned past hope? 

[Drazuing the lock from his hreast.l 
Pope 
[Half playfully, half sadly']. 
You have had absolution from a Pope! 
Belinda is inclined religiously. 
And — Scripture bids her love her enemy ! 
Farewell ! [Limping out.l 

Petre 
[At the door]. 
We meet to-night? 

Pope's Voice 

[From without]. 

At Queensberry House. 

Petre. 

Belinda — ? 

Pope's Voice. 
Will be there. Renew your vows ! 
Own her an angel — call yourself a brute ! 

[His crutch is heard tapping in the vestibule. The 
hall-door opens and shuts.] 

LofC. 



100 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Petre. 
I will— I do! 

[Coming hack, as Sleeking enters carrying a short 
brocaded dressing-gown.^ 

[To Sleeking.] 
Lay out the watered suit. 
[Taking off his coat.] 
Untie my hair! [Glancing at his watch as Sleeking 
obeys.] So late? 

Sleeking. 

The French coiffeur 
Was to be here at ten o'clock ! 

Petre. 

Monsieur 
Parvisol? Give me here my casaquin. 
Now fetch a porcelain plate and drop therein 
These ten bright portraits of the sovereign's face, 
The wealthy platter on the table place, 
And let my snuff-box, open seem to invite 
The Gallic nose to tingling delight. 
What! Do you snigger, sirrah! 

[As Sleeking does as directed.] 
Sleeking. 

No, my lord! 
But [tittering], he, he, he! It seems so montrous odd! 
[Carriage-wheels heard below, and trampling of 
horses' feet on stone pavement.] 
Petre 
[To Sleeking]. 
He comes ! The door ! 

[Sleeking throws open the door as Lord Petre 
takes his seat in the chair facing the pier-glass.] 
Queen Anne must suit his whim 
Or get no tweak or comb or irons from him ! 

[A moment of expectation. Then enter Belinda 
disguised in Parvisol's complete costume, wig, 
baldric, and all essentials. She hesitates a 
moment on the threshold, glances at Sleeking, 
who remains in a stiff, respectful attitude near 
the door, then advances with desperate courage.] 
[Sleeking goes into the dining-room.] 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. loi 

Belinda 
[ Gasping] . 
OLud! 

Petre 

[Without turning], 

Cher Mofisieur Parznsol, bon soir! 

Belinda 

[Stammering']. 

B— b— b— 

Petre. 
Je suis ravi de vous voir! 
[Belinda drazvs the shears from Parvisol's baldric, 
and advances with nervous determination.] 
I'm damned late, so, commences, je vous prie! 

[Belinda, screzving up her courage to the point of 
action, seizes him Urmly by the back hair and 
cuts it oif.] 
What hast thou done? 

[Springing to his feet in rage and consternation.] 
Belinda 
[Brandishing the hair and scissors]. 
Avenged mine injury! 
Scissors for scissors ! Hair for hair ! 

Petre. 

'Tis you! 
[Oversetting his chair and rushing to seize her.] 

Belinda ! Yield ! or 

Belinda. 

[Snatching the open snuff-box from table and throzving 

the contents in Lord Petre's face]. 

Take that ! 

Petre 

[Sneering violently], 

Atishoo ! 
[Belinda rushes out. The hall door is heard to 
bang, the carriage to drive azvay.] 
Picture. 
Lord Petre in paroxysms of sneezing. Sleeking 
petrified zvith astonishment in the doorzvay of the 
dining-room. 

Act Drop. 



I02 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

ACT IV 

Scene. — A reception-room at Queensberry House, the 
ceiling rising to a frescoed central dome in which 
are oval skylights. Double doors, supposed to lead 
to the fnusic-room. Another pair of double doors, 
revealing when open a vista of the grand staircase 
and landing, luhere the Duchess of Queensberry, a 
tall, handsome woman, superbly attired and sur- 
rounded by distinguished-looking persons of both 
sexes, receives her guests. White marble fireplace. 
Vases and superb Pompadour clock in cloisonnee 
upon it. Candelabra in white biscuit or crystal 
support galaxies of burning tapers. Two chan- 
deliers of Venetian glass depend from the ceiling, 
which is painted after Boucher. Decorations and 
mouldings in zvhite Italian plaster. Large wall- 
mirrors in flamboyant ormolu mountings. Furniture 
upholstered in lifhite and gold brocade. Cabinets 
of Sevres porcelain, large vases of pink Worcester, 
Sevres, and green and gold cloisonnee. White car- 
pet with festoons of Cupids and pink roses. Pic- 
tures by old French masters on the walls. A su- 
perb Watteau, which hangs very low, represents a 
fete champetre at Versailles. A settee. A splen- 
did writing-table of ebony inlaid, near it a high- 
backed arm-chair. Other chairs, rout seats, tabou- 
rets, couches. 
Time — 11.30 p.m. The same night. 

[At rise of the Curtain the room is crozvded with 
Gentlemen and Ladies, poivdered, frisee, and 
in gala dress. Servants in the Queensberry 
liveries serve tea and chocolate. Centre of a 
knot of Gentlemen, Clarissa, Lucinda, 
and Sacharissa, Dapperwit in attendance. 
Colonel Poyntz in conversation tmth several 
Gentlemen and Ladies. General buss of 
conversation, through which is heard a selec- 
tion from Handel's "Acis and Galatea," played 
by an Orchestra of stringed instruments within 
' the music-room.'] 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 103 

Dapperwit. 
[To Clarissa]. 
You found Belinda pensive and oppressed? 

Clarissa. 
Alas ! what tumult raged within her breast ! 

LUCINDA. 

What fury ! 

Sacharissa. 

What resentment! 

Clarissa. 

What despair! 
She raved, and wept, and tore her ravished hair ! 

[Clarissa continues her narration, the Gentlemen 
listening eagerly, and Sacharissa and Lucinda 
confirming her at different points, as the voice 
of a Major-Domo on the grand staircase 
announces: — 

Major-Domo. 
Herr Handel ! Mr. Pope ! 

{The doors are thrown open by liveried Servants. 
Handel and Pope are discovered centre of the 
brilliant group upon the landing, paying their 
compliments to the Duchess, who receives both 
Gentlemen zvith marked attention. Handel 
is a good-looking young German of tzventy-eight 
(see contemporary portraits), attired in a suit 
of shot silk, gold embroidered, a pemique and 
szvord. Pope zvears a suit of black watered 
silk zvith cut steel buttons, a full-bottomed 
brown zvig, and silver hilted szvord. They 
enter arm in arm, the doors closing behind 
them. Both are immediately surrounded and 
overwhelmed zvith compliments. 
Sacharissa, Clarissa, and Lucinda 
[To Pope]. 

O, Lud, Sir! pray 
Present us to your charming- protege ; 

[Pope performs the introductions.'] 
A Critic 
[To Pope]. 
Your "Ode on Saint Cecelia" — What a gift ! 



I04 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Pope. 
[Drily]. 
The Devil's tribute to a Saint ! 

The Critic retires, crushed. A hand of enthusi- 
astic persons of both sexes sweep Handel off 
into the music-room.] 

The Major-Domo. 

Dean Swift ! 
[A buss of excitement. Doors open as before, re- 
vealing Swift, a tall, burly, black-brozved, full- 
jowled man of forty-five, in a full-bottomed 
tvig, clerical grown and bands, in conversation 
tmth the Duchess, who detains him to zvhisper 
in his ear. He leaves her with a profound bow, 
and in company zvith a pompous Personage 
zvearing a star and a ribbon: the Crowd of 
Fashionables making a lane doivn zvhich they 
pass, Swift returning arrogant nods to the botvs 
and curtsies he receives."] 
Swift 
[In loud, blustering tones, tinged zvith a Dublin 
brogue, to the Personage]. 
He said I loved a Peer! 'Twas rightly guessed. 
The best-bred dogs, your Grace, retrieve the best! 

[The Personage drazvs back discomfited. A little 
old Gentleman zvith a snuffy shirt-frill, 
approaching Swift zvith great deference, 
attempts to zvhisper something.] 
What? [Taking snuff.'] Aly deaf ear! 

[Offering the other.'] 
The Old Gentleman 
[Anxiously] . 

Sir ! my Potosi shares ! 
[Those around listen anxiously for Swift's reply.] 

Swift 

[Glancing at the Old Gentleman's soiled ruffles]. 

Give 'em your laundress, sir, for frill-papers. 

They are worth — that! [Sponging snuff from his nml.] 

The Old Gentleman 

[Retiring discomfited]. 

I lose five hundred f 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 105 

A Guest, 

I 
Eight thousand ! 

[A babel of voices. During the clamor Sir Plume 
and Lady Topinott have been announced. 
Sir Plume is attired with fastidious elegance, 
and a curl of his periwig has been so arranged 
as to partly conceal a pronounced black eye.] 
Pope 
[Joining Swift]. 

All are stung with Spanish fly 1 
Swift 
[Centre of a Group of Listeners]. 
Sir, from the City I am newly come 
To hear Italians squall and Germans thrum. 
'Change Alley buzzes like an angry hive, 
With frantic shareholders Cheapside's alive ! 
Lanterns and torches shed a fearful light 
On staring eyes and faces ghastly white, 
A howling, cursing, raving, sweating mob. 
Yell for the blood of Burnett, Stokes, and Cobbe — 

Poyntz. 
The three Directors ? 

Swift. 
* Who were first to gain 

Concessions — now revoked — from fickle Spain. 
'Tis Bedlam loosed. [SnuMng.] They pelted me with 
mud! 

Sir Plume. 
So gross an insult would have fired my blood, 
I should have drawn upon them — slain a score ! 
And stained my steel with base plebeian gore ! 

Swift 
[Jeeringlyl. 
Pray tell me, Sir ... At your nativity 
Were there no signs for gaping crowds to see 
Betokening a hero's birth? Come, jog 
Your memory. Did no tadpole turn a frog? 
Sir Plume 
[Haughtily]. 
Sir! 



io6 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Swift. 

Did no blazing star the heavens adorn? 

Come, come! One calf was hatch'd — one gander bom! 

{The Company titter.] 
Sir Plume, 
Pish! 

Swift. 
Though the latter statement ye'd deny, 
The fact's as obvious as — your black eye 
Sir Plume 
[To Colonel Poyntz]. 
I had it painted. Is it coming through? 

Poyntz. 
Ay! The right peacock colors — green and blue! 
Sir Plume 
[ Covering his eye with his hat] . 
Confusion ! 

Swift. 

Try a raw beefsteak! 

Sir Plume 

[The centre of a grinning crowd]. 

'Odslife! 
Pope. 
Apply a poker-knob ! 

Dapperwit. 
Or carving-knife ! 
Sir Plume. 
To some unpeopled desert let me fly! 

Sacharissa. 
Thy Sacharissa bears thee company. 
What though one eye, arrayed in mourning hue, 
Beweeps the deed a dastard dared to do: 
Let but the other orb upon me shine 
And I am happy ! 

Sir Plume. 
Take me ! I am thine ! 
[Sacharissa leads him affectionately away.] 
Pope 
[To himself anxiously], 
Alas ! Belinda, why dost thou delay ? 
The Baron, too ; what is't keeps him away? 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 107 

[The Overture to Handel's "Saint Cecilia" com- 
mences. The Guests begin to stream into the 
music-room.] 

Swift 

[To Pope], 
Little great Alexander, say howi 'tis 
I see your honor with so glum a phiz ? 

Pope. 
You were too true a prophet ! 

Swift. 

Bulls and bears ! 
Wert thou a holder of Potosi shares ? 
If so, hark in your ear. [Whispering.] Purchase South 
Seas. 

Pope. 
Buy South Sea stock. Dean? 

Swift 
[Glancing round.] 

Lower, if you please! 
Spain has transferred the trade monopory. 
Parliament gulps the bait the Company 
Have dangled at the Nation's choj>s. The Act 
Will pass to-morrow, sirrah : and that's fact ! 

[Clapping Pope on the shoulder.] 

Pope 
[In astonishment]. 
Can it be possible ? 

Swift 
[Bitterly]. 

'Twas Harley's plan; 
For this he risks the name of honest man ! 

The Voice of the Major-Domo. 
My Lord of Oxford! [Harley, Lord Oxford, enters.] 

Swift 
[Silencing Pope, who is about to speak]. 

Chut ! he comes ! Go, buy ! 
And see your Twick'nham villa to the sky 
Tower a castle. Count your dividends 
And your worst enemies, your dearest friends ! 



io8 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

[Swift leaves Pope, with a nod, goes rapidly to 
Lord Oxford, takes his arm atvd leads him 
off to the music-room conversing earnestly. 
More Guests follow.^ 

Lady Topinott 
{With Clarissa, Lucinda, and other Ladies]. 
Ay, Madam, beggared ! 

Lucinda. 

La! Belinda poor! 
Clarissa 
[With ill-disguised triumph]. 
What ups and down the world sees, to be sure. 
Lucinda 
[Curiously]. 
What will she do now. Ma'am ? 

Lady Topinott. 

Remain with me 
I need a demoiselle de compagnie ! 

Clarissa. 
How nice for her ! 

Lady Topinott. 

I give two monthly crowns 
And the reversion of my cast-off gowns ! 
Clarissa 
[Tittering]. 
O, Lud ! 

The Other Ladies 
[Tittering]. 
Te-hee ! 

Pope 
[To himself]. 

Come, my Belinda, come! 
Dazzle all eyes, and strike detractors dumb ! 

The Major-Domo. 
Lord Petre ! 

Pope. 
Ha! 

Clarissa 

[Ecstatically]. 

The conquering hero ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 109 

[Lord Petre enters. He wears a suit of white 
watered silk, diamond shoe and knee buckles and 
his Orders. His hair, zvhich is now the same 
length behind as at the sides, has been carefully 
curled and poivdered. His air is crestfallen 
and conscious, and he manifests great reluctance 
to turn his back to anybody. '\ 

POYNTZ 

[Aside to Pope]. 

'Fegs ! 
A conqueror with his tail between his legs ! 

Pope 

{In the same tone]. 

What has befallen since we parted? 

All the Ladies 

[RapturoU'Sly]. 

Hail ! 
Knight of the Scissors! [Curtseying.] 

Petre 

[Sheepishly, bo7ving]. 

Ladies ! 

PoYNTZ 

[To Pope]. 

What can ail 
Him? Dost thou note the sheepish, bleating air, 
The conscious blush — ? 

Dapperwit 

[Getting behind Lord Petre]. 

Hey? 

Petre 

[Turning quickly on his heel]. 

What? 

LUCINDA. 

Lud! [Screaming]. WHERE'S HIS HAIR? 
Pope. 
How now? 

POYNTZ. 

A crop? [Exclamations.] 

Petre 
[Affecting indifference and taking snuff]. 
The latest Paris style! 



1 1 o THE LOVERS' BA TTLE. 

All the Ladies 
[In a cluster, giggling]. 

Tee-hee I 

All the Gentlemen 
[7w a row, nudging each other and chuckling]. 
Ho, ho! 

POYNTZ, 

Ha, ha! 

Petre 
[To Clarissa]. 
I see you smile ! 
Why, Sir— ! 

[Breaking down in laughter, she hides her face 
behind her fan.] 

LUCINDA. 

Why, Sir — ! [Breaking down.] 

The Other Ladies. 

Sir — ! [Breaking down.] 

All the Gentlemen, except Lord Petre 
[Spluttering zvith laughter]. 

Pouf! 
Pope 
[Controlling his amusement]. 

A charming mode ! 
The inventor's name ? 

The Major-Domo 
. [Beyond the doors, announcing]. 
Mistress Fermor! 
Petre 
[To himself]. 

The toad! 
Sir, [To Pope, maintaining his composure with diiUculty] 
I am told. . . . Ahem ! 

[ Coughing and stammering.^ 
'Tis whispered that 
[Belinda enters behind Lord Petre. She is re- 
splendently attired, wears all her jewels, and 
is radiant with triumph. Her hair is dressed 
high and powdered.] 
They call this latest coiffure — 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. iii 

Belinda. 

TIT FOR TAT! 
Petre 
\S pinning round]. 
So, Madam! [Furiously.] 

Belinda. 
[Defiantly]. 
So, Sir! 
Belinda and Lord Petre confront each other, 
glaring. The other Guests gather about the 
belligerents in a delighted semicircle. 

POYNTZ 

[Amused]. 

Worry, Vixen ! Loo ! 

Dapperwit 

[Piilling out a betting-book]. 

'Ts't ! Shake her, Towzer ! 

[He bets on the event with Poyntz.] 
Pope. 

'Odsbods ! here's to do ! 
Petre. 
Thou Gorgon ! 

Belinda. 
Monster ! 

Petre. 

Woman! angel-fair 
As thou art fiendish — give me back my hair ! 

[A shout of laughter from Pope, Poyntz, and all the 
Listeners.] 

Belinda 
[Proudly]. 
When you restore the lock you stole from me ! 

[Lord Petre produces Belinda's lock. Another 
explosion of mirth.] 
Exchange, my lord, I deem no robbery! 

[Another burst of laughter as Belinda draws from 
her corsage Lord Petre's back hair, nicely tied 
up with a ribbon. The doors are thrown open.'\ 
Major-Domo 
[Announcing']. 
His Highness, Prince Eugene! 



112 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

[Belinda and Lord Petre hurriedly conceal their 
respective locks of hair. Sensation as The 
Duchess of Queensberry sweeps in, leaning 
upon the arm of Prince Eugene. The Prince 
wears a brilliant military uniform, starred, 
and covered ivitJi Orders. His Staff follozv; 
with a train of Notabilities splendidly attired. 
Belinda and all the Ladies curtsey profoundly: 
Pope, Lord Petre, and all the other Gentle- 
men bow. The Prince returns the salute and 
leads the Duchess oif to the music-room, as the 
Orchestra and choir of voices attack the opening 
Chorus of Handel's ''Saint Cecilia." The 
Staff and Notabilities follow. Poyntz and 
Lucinda, Dapperwit and Clarissa, and other 
Ladies and Gentlemen follozir also. The 
doors close; only permitting the music to be 
heard at intervals and faintly. Belinda, 
Lord Petre, and Pope remain the sole occu- 
pants of the room.'] 

Belinda 
[To Pope]. 

Your arm, Sir! 
Petre. 
[Desperately interposing]. 

Stay! 
Madam, for you must hear me ! 

Belinda 
[Haughtily]. 



Must I ? 



Pope 
[Entreatingly] , 



Belinda 
[Turning her eyes away]. 
Well, Sir? 

Petre 

[His eyes fixed on the ground.'] 
If, through my lack of chivalry 
Your pride has suffered, and your vanity — 



Pray 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 113 

Belinda. 
You charge me with the fault I most disdain : 
Whatever else I am — I am not vain ! 
Not vain, thank Heaven ! my lord, yet if I were, 
I were not vain, to glory in my hair. 
Or deem that man who shall a lock obtain 
From me, will have some reason to be vain ! 

[As Lord Petre, conscience-stricken, draws forth 
the lock with the evident intention of restoring 
it.] 
Nay, Baron, keep the lock ? As fairy gold 
Crumbles to earth in a mere mortal's hold, 
Such trophies, won without a lady's will, 
Remain, in spite of all, the lady's still ! 
Boast of your triumph then : I shall not deign 

[Volubly.] 
To contradict, protest, implore, arraign ! 
I will not speak one single word, I vow, 
But remain speechless : dumb, as I am now ! 
I will expire, I say ! and not complain. 
Rather than slanderous tongues should term me vain! 
Vain I am not ! yet if 'tis vanity 
To think a man might thank his stars for me 
Dowerless, landless, sans a penny-piece, 
Without a rag save my — [confused] — my — what you 

please ! — 
Yet hold himself a highly-favored swain — 

[Sweeping a curtsey.] 
Then, if your lordship chooses, I am vain ! 

Petre 

[Eagerly]. 

Thou peerless creature ! Hear me — ! 

Belinda 

[Beginning to tremble]. 

One word yet. 
And then we part. . . . Would we had never met! 
That I repaid your wrong with injury. 
Blame all the outraged of my sex in me! 

[Struggling with tears,] 
You vowed you loved me, Sir, and I believed 
And gave you all the heart you have deceived. 



114 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

You seemed so ardent, so sincere ; you know 

The look that thrilled, the tone that rang most true : 

I worshipped you as something half-divine. . . . 

Heaven launched the bolt that broke my idol's shrine. . . 

It was my gold my lover loved, not Me ! 

Conceive my grief, my shame, my misery. . . 

My deep humiliation, bitter pain, 

And ask yourself, my lord, if I was vain? 

[Sobbing and overcome, Belinda turns atvay, lean- 
ing for support upon the back of a high chair 
near the fireplace. There is a moment's si- 
lence.] 

Petre. 
What is pure love, if 'tis not what I know 
Now, when I gaze on thee, dissolved in woe? 

Pope. 
Pilate asked what is Truth? This questioning Age 
Would learn what Love is ? 

Petre. 

Canst thou teach it, Sage? 

Pope. 
I can, my lord. That mutual tenderness 
Which seeks to give the more and not the less ! 
That passion which survives the loss of wealth. 
Friends, honors, reputation, hope and health ; 
This, this is Love ! That glowing, lambent fire 
Which still burns on when Age has quenched Desire, 
That faithful ardor which new charms can trace 
Ev'n in the wrinkles of a worshipped face. . . 
If such a heav'n-born flame you cherished. Sir, 
Would you not bless the God who gave you her? 

[Pointing to Belinda.] 
Defy a sneering world ! throw down the glove ! 
And challenge Time and Death to conquer Love ? 

Petre 
[In a lozv tone, looking keenly in Pope's face]. 
You have betrayed yourself. You love her! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 115 

Pope 

[Glancing fearfully towards Belinda]. 

Husli! 
Nor put my pained remembrance to the blush. 

[Almost wildly.^ 
There was an hour — a mad, forgetful hour, 
When the dwarfed cripple, swayed by Passion's power — 

Petre. 

Spoke? Told her all? 

Pope 

[Sadly and bitterly]. 

Ah, no! It came to pass 
We stood together near a looking-glass, 
I saw myself reflected by her side — 
The contrast pierced and Aspiration died ! 
Now, I am wedded to an ancient flame, 

[In anszvcr to Lord Petre's look of inquiry.] 
The Muse ! She bears me babes that are not lame ! 

[With forced cheerfulness of tone and manner, look- 
ing from Lord Petre, zvho stands motionless 
with bent head, to Belinda's heaving shoulders 
and averted face.] 
Silent, my lord? [Taking snuif.] Belinda, too, is dumb? 
Neither appeased; both still indignant? Come! 

[Going to Belinda, he takes her hand, and leads her 
towards Lord Petre. She submits, keeping 
her head still obstinately turned away.] 
Exchange these locks, and without more ado! 

[To Lord Petre,] 
Give her her hair, and she shall render you 
Your own ! 

[Belinda, with averted face and manifest reluc- 
tance, drazvs Lord Petre's hair from her 
bosom, as Lord Petre slozvly and unwillingly 
takes the lock from his vest.] 
Petre 
[ With a loud sigh] . 
Heigho ! 
[He extends the lock zvithout looking at Belinda.] 



ii6 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Belinda 

[With a faint sigh]. 

Heigho ! 

[Extending the hair without looking at Lord Petre.] 

Pope 

[Peeping slyly in their averted faces]. 

A double sigh? 
Nor Roe nor Doe are willing to comply ! 
Let me suggest a plain arrangement which 
May prove more fair and feasible to each ! 

[With a twinkle in his eye.] 
Keep you the lock, Sir ! cherish it, or burn 
As you see fit. You, Madam, in your turn 
Retain that hair, do with it as you will ! 
'Odsbods ! Both parties glum and silent still . . , 
Take then these ebon hairs, this chestnut curl 

[Gently joining the hands of Lord Petre and 
Belinda.] 
Enclose them in one shrine of gold and pearl, 
And leave the legend and the locket to 
Your children ! 

Petre 
[To Belinda]. 
Answer : I implore of you ! 
Belinda 
[Faltering]. 
Baron — ! 

Petre 
[Sinking on his knee]. 
I ask you not to love me — yet ! 
But O. forget what Love would most forget! 
Remember, love, what Love would most recall, 
And let a woman's pity cover all ! 

[Tzvelve o'clock chimes from the clock on the man- 
tel-shelf.] 

Belinda. 
Alas, my lord, my poverty ! 

Petre 
[With passionate tenderness, still kneeling]. 

That which 
Hath made thee poor, sweet Heart, shall make me rich ! 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 117 

Pope. 
It has, my lord ! 

Petre 
[Rising.^ 
Sir? 

Pope. 

Surely, as the clock 
Struck twelve ! There is a rise in South Sea stock ! 

Petre. 
I hold ten thousand shares ! 

Pope. 

Sell out. Invest ! 
Let Harley and the devil take the rest! 
Calm and contented live out all your life, 
Favored by Fortune, happy in a wife, 

[The strains of the fairy harps are heard. The 
■figures in the Watteau picture are mysteriously 
endoived with life and movement. They are no 
longer siuains and shepherdesses, but have 
assumed the forms of the Sylphs. Gradually 
increasing in size, they fill the picture-frame and 
encroach beyond its limits.] 
If to whose share some female errors fall, 
[Tenderly lifting Belinda's hand 
to his lips.] 
Look in her face, and you'll forget 'em all ! 

[Soft strains of harp music, gradually szvelling. As 
Pope limps slozvly tozvards the door, Belinda 
sitiks upon the ottoman. Lord Petre, kneeling 
beside her, clasps her in his arm, her face 
droops dozvnwards until her lips meet his.] 
Ah ! happy maid ! 

[Pausing and looking hack, zvith zvistful sadness.] 
Happy, thrice happy swain ! 
Love on : I go my way in lonely pain ; 
Heaven has so willed : 'tis the Divine decree — 
Roses for you, and only thorns for me! 

[The harp music s-iveils to a triumphant crescendo.] 
The Sylphs. 
Poet! 



Ii8 THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 

Pope 
{Pausing.^ 
What voices call? 
{He stands lost in zuonder and astonishment, as 
frotn the Wattean picture the Sylphs enter in 
a stately procession. They are attired as be- 
fore, hut zvear garlands and carry long-stalked 
roses, tall lilies, and other flowers with petals of 
light, as walking-sticks. Crispissa, Momen- 
TiLLA, Zephyretto, Tassellio, and Others 
advance and group themselves about the en- 
twined lovers, zvho do not see them. Ariel and 
Brilliante move gently towards Pope.] 
Say, who are ye ? 
Ethereal beings born of Fantasy ? 
Dream-children, present to my waking eyes? 

Ariel. 
Take thy pen. Poet ! 

Brilliante. 
Quickly and devise — 
Ariel. 
A masterpiece for this, and every Time. 

Brilliante. 
A wondrous broidery of cunning rhyme ! 

Ariel. 
Jewelled with sparkling wit. . . 

Brilliante. 

Yet showing here 
And there the pearly glimmer of a tear! 

Pope 
[With a sudden inspiration]. 
It shall be done ! 

Ariel and Brilliante. 
Come, Poet ! 
[They lead him to the chcdr at the writing-table. 
Ariel arranges paper before him. Brilliante 
places the pen in his hand.] 
Pope. 

Numbers flow! 
Ideas arrive and dazzling colors glow 
Upon the palette of my mind. 



THE LOVERS' BATTLE. 119 

Belinda 
{Looking across to Pope.] 

You say? — 
Ariel 
[As Pope is about to speak]. 
Let no rash word our presence here betray ! 
To thee alone, O Poet ! it is given 
To see what Shakespeare — 

Brilliante. 

One Midsummer even 
Saw in a Dream ! 

Belinda. 
Dear Poet, do you write 
Another Pastoral for our delight? 

Petre. 
Or a new Ode? 

Belinda. 
Or ponder on the plan 
Of your proected Essay upon Man? 

Pope. 
Woman's my theme ! 

Belinda. 
O! 
Pope. 

Madam, I aspire 
To strike in praise of you my trembling lyre ; 
Thus, in my verse, whilst living, shall be shrined 
The beauties of your person, and your mind ! 
So, when fair suns shall set, as set they must, 
And that beloved head lies low in dust. 
One lock the Muse shall consecrate to Fame 
And midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name ! 
Picture. — Belinda and Petre together. The Sylphs 
lovingly clustered round Pope, who is absorbed in 
composition at the zvriting-table. 
Curtain. 
Second Picture. — Ariel, Brilliante, and the 
Sylphs, retiring, zvave farewell to Pope with their 
fairy flowers, laying their lingers on their pursed-up 
lips to enjoin secrecy. Lord Petre and Belinda 
are together. Pope still at table writing busily. 



UU» ) utL, tOCAT.WV. 
S£P. 9 1902 



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